


Pack Rules

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Children, F/F, F/M, I don't really know - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mystery, Some Humor, Werewolf Politics, a dash of discrimination, and you got yourself a fic, or my take at mystery, unbetad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 25,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8050693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Dropship Valley had been a safe haven for Bellamy's pack for over ten years. Now it's a week until the next full moon rises and the town has been flooded with hunters: some of them safe, some of them dangerous; some flooding with secrets, some about to reveal great truths.





	1. Bellamy

Bellamy has been alpha for over twenty years. True, his pack was initially only his sister and him, but he had been the alpha there. Then, when his mom died, and they were carted over to the orphanage, his pack grew. Significantly. In a fortnight he had a well-organized pack of over fifteen kids. They fled the orphanage and moved around until they settled at Dropship Valley, a very tiny village surrounded by giant mountains covered on luscious forests. A few of his pack members scattered, but most of them remained loyal to him.

  
Bellamy loves his pack like he loves his sister: fiercely and unconditionally. He goes great lengths to ensure his peoples’ safety among Dropship Valley's inhabitants; makes sure every one of his pack members is an active part of the human community, to further secure their position. He himself is a teacher at the tiny school; Raven, his right hand, is an integral part of their mechanic shop. His third in command, Miller and Millers’ boyfriend man the old bread and breakfast – now with an Internet café on the ground floor.

  
They had been living in Dropship Valley for ten years when Bellamy met his now wife: an art student that was doing some strange land-art-project for college. She was talented,  beautiful and had a very odd smell that reminded him of misty air and cinnamon.

  
 Bellamy has been a pack-leader for over twenty years, a husband for seven and a father for five. In all that time he has been sure of his decisions. Some harder than others, but he was always sure of what had to be done. 

Standing in the shadows, watching that strange girl limping through the isles in the grocery store, he is most definitively not sure of what he had to do.

  
In the end, the decision was made for him when his five-year-old boy goes over to the girl and cheerily tells her: "You smell funny!"  


The girl blinks down at him, and Bellamy is forced out into the light to reprimand his boy’s bad manners. No matter how rotten someone smells, it is not polite to tell them that.

  
"Alexander!" The girl turns to him. She must be, what? Twenty? Twenty-one? She looks younger. Bellamy plasters a smile on his face, forcing himself not to react. The stench is nearly overpowering. "I am sorry. Alexander, you can’t go around saying stuff like that."

  
Alexander looks up at him and then back at the stranger. "But it’s true."  


"Apologize for being rude," he tells him sternly.

  
"But it is true."

  
"Don’t worry about it," The girl has a deep, quiet voice. "It’s quite alright," she shifts towards the boy, and Bellamy has to fight every cell in his body telling him to get his son away from that… thing. "You are right. I smell funny." More like rotten flesh, Bellamy thinks but didn’t say, and the girl keeps talking. "I am sorry. I know it’s very uncomfortable for you."

  
Alexander, always the sweet little imp, smiles back at her. "You do not need to apologize. My cousin Charlotte stinks, way badder than you."

  
"Worse," corrects Bellamy automatically without realizing what the boy is saying until it is too late.

  
"Way worse than you," repeats Alexander. "But I am not allowed to complain, because she has a skin condition."

  
"Oh! I hope she gets better."  


Alexander shakes his head. "She won’t. It’s genetic. Do you have a skin condition, too."

The girl shrugs, laughing like it's a joke when she answers: "You could say that."

Alexander laughs with her.  


"Sorry about that," Bellamy apologizes once she looks up from the child. "Children, you know. " A soft pause. "Are you knew in town?"

  
He doesn't need to ask: Bellamy knows everyone in this town. Everyone who comes regularly, who has deals in the area, who owns a weekend-house and the season-hunters. This girl is none of these.

  
And Bellamy can swear he hasn't seen her before. Other than her smell, she has a very memorable appearance: a weird tribal face tattoo that looks sort-of-green around the edges; clever dark eyes and a nicely shaped mouth. Wears a bandana around her head,  hair cascading in a mess of braids, dreadlocks, and trinkets woven into the dark strands. Her clothes are practical if a little old-fashioned: a short lacy overskirt over a tight pair of camouflage pants, a heavy bomber jacket, equally heavy combat boots. Everything about her is scuffed and well worn.

  
"Just passing through."

  
"You traveling alone?"

  
She smiles a small private smile and steps up to the counter. There is something awkward about her shuffling limp. Bellamy can't pinpoint exactly what that is, but it makes him deeply uncomfortable.

  
The cashier is an elderly man with a sweet face and an intrusive manner that pries secrets out of strangers with the same ease one might take candy from a child. 

Bellamy shoots a look at Monroe- who is supposedly working in re-stacking the shelves. Monroe is part of his pack and good friends with the cashier. She'll tell him everything there is to know about this mysterious stranger.

  
With a nod, he takes Alexander’s hand and walks out of the store.


	2. Marcus Kane

Marcus Kane has been sheriff in Dropship Valley for over thirty-six years. He was born in Arkadia – the only major city in a hundred mile radius – and studied there. When he was assigned to Dropship Valley, the town had been dying a slow and agonizing death. Then the wolves came: an injection of new blood and new ideas. The town was suddenly young again and with it came tourism and even an Internet Café. Their mechanic shop was the speediest and most reliable in the whole county.

 

Now, passers-by aren’t uncommon, but the dark jeep parked in front of the sheriff station speaks of a hunting party and Marcus Kane doesn't like a group of hunters arriving at his town four days before the full moon.

 

His deputy, Indra Woods, intercepts him as he enters, loaded with coffee and bagels from the bakery down the street. She has a square jaw, soft fleshy lips, big judgey eyes and a down-to-business no-nonsense attitude towards everything.

  
"There are two men waiting for you in your office," she whispers, taking one of the bagles and the strongest, blackest of the two coffees.

  
The information alone seems unnecessary since the sheriff station isn’t all that big and his office’s blinds are constantly open, so he can see the two men quite clearly on his own. Yet, coming from Indra, Marcus snaps automatically to attention. Indra dislikes talking with a passion. So he waits for her to continue: "They are hunters."

  
"Why are they in my office?"  
More importantly, why are they here? It isn’t hunting season, and everyone knows it's forbidden to hunt around Dropship Valley during the week prior to the full moon. It has been forbidden for over a decade, and publicly announced countless times.

  
"They say they know you," this she says accompanied by one of her judging looks. One that informs him quite clearly about what she would think of him, should that be true.  
  


"Thank you." He throws her his most disarming smile, and she retorts with her most disarmed look – which isn’t disarmed at all.

  
Fearing the worst Marcus Kane enters his office. In front of him stand his high school best friends Thelonious Jaha and Charles Pike.

 

"Thelonious, Charles!" They clap each other on the back with big warm smiles that remember a thousand little adventures and none of the heartache. "It’s been too long. How have you been? Please, please, take a seat."

  
Marcus sits behind his desk, while the two visitors take the chairs next to them. At school Marcus had followed Thelonious around like an angry guard dog. It wasn’t until he left high school for the Academy that he noticed just how much of a crony he had been, how terribly manipulative his best friend was. Marcus knows he isn't the most influential leader there is: he likes giving power away; following was always easier than being followed. The problem with that usually lays in the person you are following.  
 

"So," says Thelonious Jaha with his smooth politicians’ voice. Marcus hates that sweet, sweet voice that can lead you anywhere "you made it to sheriff."  
  


"Yep," he pops the p in a way that drives Indra up the walls. He can see her stalking the office like some big caged panther.

  
"And what about you?" he asks conversationally.  
  


"I have been searching for my sons’ murderer."

  
Well, that is one way to suck all the joy out of high-school-friends visits. Marcus frowns.  
Wells Jaha had been a charming, intelligent young man the last time Marcus had seen him. He had been stabbed to death ten years ago, a terrible incident in which the murderer had never been found.

  
"You have found a lead? Is the police close?"  
Marcus knows Thelonious’ smile: it is that soft preacher-smile that gives him the creeps now that he is older and not so gullible. The smile is unnerving in its soft edges, in the way it sits on the man’s face and the promises it holds.

  
"I have been investigating on my own."

  
"The police doesn’t care about Wells," that is Charles Pike’s aggressive voice barking through, always the guard-dog, ready to defend Thelonious, always ready to tear you limb from limb.

  
"There were no leads. I checked myself," even though it hadn’t been his jurisdiction, Marcus had known a detective in the Arkadia P.D. There were only some circumstantial leads that didn’t yield any results. The whole thing had been tragic, but there was nothing he could do.

  
"We know Arkadia P.D. has a lot of things to do. We don’t. So we investigated on our own," Thelonious cuts smoothly in.  
  


"And…"

  
"And it was wolves."

  
Marcus Kane blinks, his eyes darting over to Indra, smoothly beating a filing cabinet into submission.

  
"Wolves?"

  
"Yes. It has taken us a long time, but, finally we’ve found the right ones."

  
He swallows. Thelonious and Charles are smiling still, but he feels frozen in time. Just four days to the full moon. He is meeting Bellamy in the bar for drinks tonight. His sister is bringing her pack over for the full moon. It is Bellamy's child's birthday.

  
There are fifteen wolves in town right now. In four days there will be nearly forty.

  
"B-but that’s impossible. He was stabbed."

  
"There was a lot of unease regarding the wolves at the time." Thelonious’ look has that apprizing quality to it, that reminds him of a snake looking at a rabbit. "They covered it up. But I saw my baby. There were bite-marks on him."

  
"I can vouch for every single wolf in this town."

  
Thelonious Jaha keeps smiling sweetly at him. "A wolf is not a tame animal you can control, Marcus. It is a rabid dog and you know that rabid dogs have to be put down."

  
When Marcus was eleven or twelve years old, there lived a wolf at the end of the street that went with him to school. He was a small little thing, prone to illness, crazy fast. Thelonious, Charles and him were some of the many children that made fun of the wolf. It was one of the only two in the whole school. He remembers that they threw stones at the boy. One day, one of those stones crashed against his brow. It was the day after the full moon and the wolf had come to school because they had a test. Being so close to the full moon, the wolf snapped. He attacked them, bitting and scratching, screaming like crazy. That day Marcus learned that wolves were actually dangerous.

  
Since in the state wolves were not legally human, the boy was ‘put down’. One could kill a wolf with no legal consequences, but a wolf could never hope to defend itself.

  
At the time Marcus Kane hadn't understood why there had been so many protests from wovles and humans after the wolf had been killed. Now he thinks of young Alexander, quippy Raven, and mild Miller, and he shudders because he knows every one of them could be killed by madmen like his once-friends, with no hope of defending themselves.

  
He sits forward, very deliberately putting his arms on the desk.

  
"I vouch for every single one of the wolves of this town. They are protected. I advise you to go elsewhere for your murderer. They are not here. Get out of my town."

  
Thelonious never stops smiling when he leans forward, a mirror image of Marcus and oh, so much more powerful. "And what can you do to stop us? We are ridding you of a pest. You should be thankful."

  
"Get out."

  
Thelonious Jaha stands up smoothly and puts his jacket on. "Come on, Charles. It’s clear we are not welcome here."

  
They are at the door when Thelonious turns, quite casually towards Marcus.  
  


"You used to choose your friends more carefully, once upon a time." Marcus remains sitting and silent. "I wonder how Clarke’s doing."  
And with that steps out of the room.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading


	3. Clarke Griffin

Clarke is happy – has been so for quite some time. Ever since she moved from Arkadia to Polis, and later to Dropship Valley, she has been quite happy. She doesn't really reflect on that as often as she did at the beginning, when every breath of air felt like a surprise. After her father’s death, she fled her mother’s shadow, threw her plans of becoming a doctor – a carbon-copy of her mom – out the window and pursued her dream of becoming an artist. Art School in Polis brought her to Dropship Valley, where she met Bellamy while doing a land art project. She has been happy ever since starting this new adventure.

  
She is sketching Alexander while he plays with some lumps of Play Dough on the living-room and making a mess his over-organised dad will probablyfrown upon. Said over-organized dad is not in the house since he has a teacher's meeting at the school where he works. So there is no imminent frown to worry about. 

Alexander adds a string of green to the top of his lopsided Play Dough sculpture, while she shads his little nub nose on the sketch. He looks up, a smile on his beautiful chubby baby face. He is the most beautiful of all the children she has ever seen, with his tan skin, bright smile and dark blue eyes – the only thing he has inherited from her.

"Someone’s at the door," he informs her ten seconds before the bell rings.

  
Clarke stands up, kissing the top of Alexander’s mop of dark brown curls, while she was at it. The door sticks a little, and she nearly falls on her butt when she manages to yank it open a little bit more forcefully than strictly necessary.

  
A woman stands ramrod straight on the other side, dark hair flowing in waves down to the middle of her back. Her sun-kissed skin makes her automatically feel slightly self-conscious of her blotchy un-able-to-get-even-tan pale skin. Ice-cold eyes regard her with the same interest a scientist might hold for a strange unexplained object. Clarke wants to paint that mouth doing something obscene like smile.

  
"You’re not Bellamy," states the woman, like the statement offends her greatly.

  
One of Clarke’s eyebrows raises to her hairline.  
"I know," is the only thing she can muster at the moment. "I guess you’re Lexa."

  
"Clarke,"- snaps the woman, snipping her fingers. "You’re Bellamy’s mate. And there’s the cub!"

  
Clarke doesn’t want to look over her shoulder, doesn’t want to stop looking at that malleable face that seems stuck on disdain – fearing she might miss the shift into something else. This is the type of woman she had been constantly falling for in college. She has books full of sketches of women like her. This one she has to add to her collection. That mouth has to be immortalized.

  
Alexander comes closer elbowing his way around his mother’s legs.

  
"Aunt Lexa!" he grins, throwing himself at the woman.

  
The woman wrinkles her nose.

  
"Hello, small cub."  
  


"My name is Alexander," enunciates the boy proudly.

  
"Charmed."

  
Clarke’s second eyebrow joins the first one.

  
"Where’s Bellamy?"

  
"He’s at the school, had a meeting."

  
Lexa huffs.  "He was supposed to be here."

  
And he was, Bellamy told her his best friend was coming to visit. They even prepared the spare bedroom for her. But the meeting was rescheduled and somehow they forgot to mention it to Lexa. Until now Clarke has only glimpsed at her in wolf form, and never interacted with her. 

Bellamy doesn't have that many friends – really close friends, not just pack members that followed his every command, but equals – and he always speaks of Lexa like this remarkable woman who would do anything for 'her people' – whoever those are. Now, the real thing kind of falls short.

  
"Please, come in."

  
"Much obliged," Lexa nods a small, nearly imperceptible curtsy and Clarke has to bite down a sarcastic laugh and rein in her eyebrows, which threaten to crawl out of her face completely.

  
Like every other wolf, Lexa enters slowly, taking everything in, sniffing the air, testing, with every step, if it was safe.

  
"Did you come alone?"

  
Her attention snaps automatically to Clarke. "I travel with my pack."

  
Of course, since she is an alpha she can't just travel anywhere and leave her pack behind.  
Ever since Clark met Bellamy and his mismatched pack, she has learned quite a bit about wolf politics, customs, and myth. Bellamy is saddled with the whole pack until another challenges him and win the fight – probably killing him in the process. Being an alpha is a 24/7 deal.

  
"How long have you been leader of this pack?" Clarke askes conversationally opening the door to the guest room.

  
Lexa enters slowly, looking around with dubious interest. "Since I was six. I inherited the pack from my mother."

  
"Wow."

  
The woman seems pleased with that answer, throwing half a smile towards her.  
Clarke itches for the whole thing.

 

"My pack is quite different from Bellamys'."  
They moved the conversation back to the living room. Lexa nursing one of the dark root beers Bellamy bought specially for her, sprawled on one of the sofas, Clarke sat on the other one, absently sketching some random hybrid between flowerpot, cat and human next to Alexander's sketch. She can’t stop looking at Lexa’s lips. The wolf seems relaxed. She likes to talk about her people, about her and Bellamy's childhood. She is still haughty and looks bored, but her movements flow beautifully when she gestures, her voice full of respect, awe and all those feelings her face seems unable to convey. 

Clarke is taken with her. Surely beneath that cool demeanor lies something else, something precious and she wants it.

  
"How so?"

  
"For one his is sedentary. They lay back and buy their meat off the store shelves and stuff."

  
"What’s wrong with stores?"

  
"The flesh there is so processed it doesn’t taste like flesh at all. We hunt our food."

  
"Isn’t it dangerous?"

  
Lexa frowns. "Why would it be?"

  
"Hunts don’t always go as planned. What happens if there’s a bad season and you don’t get enough game and you attack a human?"

  
"That is why we’re not sedentary. We move around like game does."

  
"But there’s still the possibility. It happens in the wild constantly."

  
Lexa shrugs and Clarke thinks she has a pretty good idea now of what Bellamy means when he talks about how she would do anything for 'her people.'

  
There are many things she wants to ask: is it worth the risk? But in that moment the door opens and in comes Bellamy carrying a bag of groceries – even though they’went to the store yesterday.

  
He smiles at them.

  
"Well if it isn’t my favourite best friends together at last. Are you plotting on killing me and eloping together already?"

  
Lexa’s expression does something complicated and Clarke feels herself blushing. He laughs before kissing Clarke and engulfing Lexa’s slender form in a bear hug.

  
"We might elope without killing you," says Clarke, voice squeaking for no reason.  
  


"Killing him is way more fun. Also it comes with the added bonus of doubling the numbers on my pack."

  
"I am feeling the love here."

  
"In war and love…"

  
Lexa throws a wink at Clarke for good measure and Bellamy scuffs the back of her head in a playful brotherly way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always this was unbetad  
> Thanks for reading :)


	4. Raven

Raven isn’t prone to running around. A terrible car accident left her with a limp and a brace, always in pain, which is the reason why she doesn't like pointlessly running around. But this is the third night in a row that she's snatched the strange smell on her way home from the shop. Curiosity is a terrible thing to have.

  
She limps along the dark street, ears open and eyes scanning the night. Her shop is on the outskirts of Dropship Valley,  so she hasn't to limp all that far before she's surrounded by the big trees of the forest surrounding their home. The woods smell of leaves and earth, a storm brewing far away, and… There! The scent is there! She fixes her gaze into the darkness, willing it out of the way, the shadows to part and show her what she wants to find.

  
The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She sees a pair of small eyes – yellow pinpricks of light – looking back at her. Raven fights the sudden revulsion. There is something inherently wrong with those eyes.

  
She knows, if she walks a few feet forward, she will be close enough to see it…  
But if she walks any further, she will step out of the streetlight completely. Something about that idea makes her knees shake.

  
Raven isn't a coward, always quick to act and prone to bully her point across, she has been the pack's beta for long enough to prove that she might be aggressive and hot-headed, but not a coward. Never a coward. It isn’t cowardice to be scared of whatever lurks in the shadows.

  
She growls, deep in her chest, the sound rumbling around her. A pointed warning. The eyes blink.

  
She can't hear breathing, but – oddly enough – she catches the thrum of a heart. How can there be a heartbeat without a breath? The creature shifts – she can see the shadow of a body, but no defined form. Every instinct in her body screams at her to run. She stands her ground. Her growl deepens and vibrates through her teeth. She can feel her canines pressing against the inside of her lips.

  
"Go away! You’re not wanted here!"

  
The eyes blink. Once, twice. And disappear. For a moment the uneasiness remains, and a moment later that vanishes, too, leaving only an ordinary night behind.

  
Raven inhales deeply. The air is crisp the smell is dissipating.

  
She limps back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading


	5. Gina

Gina’s little bar was not designed to hold that many people, muses Gina while serving beer to yet another group of loud strangers. The wolves usually get together every Thursday, they sit in the booths to the left, occupying one - or three when everyone shows up, which isn’t usually the case – of the booths lining the east wall. 

This week, though, the pack seems to have multiplied. The bar full of strangers, every single one of which sort of gravitates towards the usual booth occupied by Bellamy and Clarke.

  
"Hello, beautiful," smiles Monroe, suddenly in front of Gina, her aggressive braid hanging teasingly over one shoulder.

  
The bartender smiles back, falling effortlessly in their usual flirting.  
  


Monroe is one of the youngest wolves in the pack. She was eleven or twelve years old when they arrived at Dropship Valley, which means she is nearly eight years younger than Gina, but that doesn't stop her from smiling at her from across the room and striking up conversations whenever they meet either at the bar or at Tony’s grocery store.

  
Gina isn’t sure how much of it is fooling around and how much really means something to the girl.

  
"So, what’s this all about?"

  
Monroe rests her elbows on the counter between them, probably kneeling on the stool, like she is wont to do. Her doe eyes are very dark and her straight boyish smile very kissable.

  
Gina reigns her thoughts in with iron will.  
"It’s because of Alexander," she is the only one of the wolves that speak with a slight Dropship Valley accent, biting the end of every word and rolling the ‘l’s, which was probably the only “cute” thing in Monroe’s tomboys’ whole self. "He’s coming to the hunt this full moon. It’s like a rite of passage," she explains, leaning against Gina’s cheek in order to be heard over the noise in the bar.

  
She smells like the grocery store, earth and mint. Gina stabilizes her with a hand to the neck out of reflex – the counter isn’t the most sanitary place. Gina doesn’t want Monroe to fall onto some sticky alcohol stain, since she is wearing her cute plaid shirt.

  
"And who are all these people?" asks Gina, not wanting her to sit back just yet.  
She feels Monroe smiling next to her ear. The wolf shifts so that she can look over her shoulder, not really moving away from Gina. She points at a slender woman with dark braided hair and a no-nonsense tilt to her head.

  
"That’s Lexa. She’s an alpha, so her pack is here, too. You can distinguish them because they smell of…" Throwing a look at Gina, Monroe blushes. "Because of the silly tattoos they all wear."

  
The tattoos in question are different versions of a paw mark on their necks, hands, arms and on one unsettling individual on the top of his shaved head.

  
"And that," Monroe turns Gina’s head towards a young woman with ferocious eyes standing on the shadow of a giant, "is Octavia. She and her mate are alphas, too."

  
Octavia’s pack is slightly less menacing than Lexa’s. All of them dress in the same muted browns and greens one would expect of a group of hunters to wear. They all arrived in different versions of the same monstrous motorcycles that morning and are doing good work on her beer stock.

  
"So… The two pack leaders have come to… what? Recruit Alexander for their packs?"  
Monroe blinks at her. She barks a beer-scented laugh.

  
"God you’re adorable" she sighs, still laughing. "No they’re friends and family. Lexa has been a friend of Bellamy since, I don’t know, before we met him. I think they were born in the same pack or something like that. And Octavia is Bellamy’s baby sister."

  
That makes a lot more sense, but Gina is not about to say that. She nods and steps over to one of the regulars for a refill. 

 

For the next few hours, she barely has time to look back at Monroe- the girl vacated her stool and is kicking the hell out of a dart game against some of the foreigners.

  
It is late when Marcus Kane and Indra Woods entered the bar. The two alpha women, Lexa and Octavia, turn all their attention towards the sheriff and his deputy, while their shaved-headed companions seem to grow a few inches. Indra huffs, shooting murderous looks at both of them. 

Bellamy greets the law enforcers cordially enough, and Clarke is all smiles and warmth. But Gina sees how tense the new wolves are, how, even though they continue drinking and playing darts and talking, their attention shifts to the newcomers.

  
Gina walks over to the table to take Marcus’ and Indra’s orders. 

  
"Good night, sheriff, deputy." she smiles.  
Indra fixes the bartender with one of her trademark kind glares. Indra has two facial expressions: angry glaring and kind glaring.

  
"Good night, Gina," answers Marcus.

  
"Can I get you guys anything?"  
Indra’s eye turns to the sheriff, even though the rest of her remains unmoving.

  
"A beer, please," he says, his eyes meeting the deputy’s.

  
"Beer" grumbles the deputy.

  
Gina leaves them to fetch their drinks and, when she returns all four of them are grim-faced.  
  


"Everything ok?"  
  


"Yes, thank you, Gina." Clarke tries for a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

  
When she retreats behind the counter, she finds Monroe perched on her stool looking miserable.

  
"What happened?"

  
"Harper is a bitch."  
  


Gina stares, taken by surprise. "Well…"

 

"I don’t mean it in the literal sense." She grumbles. "She’s a _bitch_ , you know?"  
  


"What has she done?"  
  


"She dared me to ask you out." Her thin lips pressed in a thin line. Eyes hard like stone.

 

"Oh."  
  


Monroe crosses her arms across her chest in a sort of petulant gesture that Gina finds exceptionally endearing.  
  


"Oh, come here, you!"  
Gina drags her forward by the back of her head and kisses the pout off her lips to the cheering of Monroe's pack. The wolf flips them off without breaking the kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.... I did not see that coming. But... I guess Gina deserves a happy relationship and Monroe is just.... sort of there on the series. So.... Yeah... Good for them XD 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading


	6. Thelonious

Thelonious Jaha sits on the back seat of an old rental jeep. Behind the wheel is a mute man whose name Thelonious forgot right after hearing it the first time. His face is somewhat distinctive: a vast mesh of scars covering nearly every last inch of the right side of his face. Apparently rabid dogs attacked him when he was a child, which rendered him mute and scarred. Next to the man sits Charles Pike.

  
Thelonious finds it amusing to see the two men sitting next to each other: the one attacked by dogs and the one that is like a dog. The door on the back of the rental opens and Alie slides in, her black hair piled in a high severe looking knot.

  
As always Alie is impeccably dressed in fashionable cargo pants and a tank top that shouldn’t look as flattering as it does.

  
The mute pulls out of the motel where they are staying fifty miles away from Dropship Valley. It is unpractical but saves them the trouble of sleeping with the enemy. That town is crawling with monsters and murderers. How can Marcus be so blind? He used to be one of  Thelonious' smartest friends – which isn’t saying much, but still… He should know better.

  
Thelonious sighs.  
  


He will erase the threat before Marcus even realizes it exists.  
  


Alie’s gaze fixes on the screen of her mobile phone – a thin golden monstrosity of a phablet. Thelonious believes there is a tool for everything: phones should be used to call and – maybe – message. Alie, on the other hand, is an avid technophile. In the last ten years, she’d had nearly fifty different mobile phones, almost half as many computers. She has all the gadgets and knows how to hack all those she didn’t have. Right now she is controlling their locator drone – a little marvel designed to help them locate their prey.

 

They drive in silence for a while. A few miles before arriving at Dropship Valley they turn into one of the many nearly invisible forest roads. After a few miles the mute pulls over, and Alie flows elegantly out of the car, huffing at the mud splattering the toes of her boots.

  
Charles rounds the car, standing straight and at the ready next to Thelonious while the mute lights a cigar, looking sort of bored.  
  


"Well? Where is it?"

  
Alie points east without looking up from the screen, and together they start treading through the forest. This part is the one Thelonious liked the least. He would rather sit in some place and leave the tracking and trekking and investigating to somebody else. All this legwork is really demeaning.

  
They walked in silence, the only noise the slight creaking of their footsteps and the soft clicking of Charles’ gun against his back.  
  


The cave is well hidden, but the drone finds it nonetheless. The four hunters stop, crouching behind some bushes and observing the dark, yawning mouth.  
  


"We’re sure the monster is in there?" whispers Charles.

  
"This is their den," answers Alie without looking up. "Filthy animals."

  
"I’m going in," growls Charles, all humming tension.

  
Thelonious has his doubts about this place. It looks far too easy. Ten years hunting for it to end so suddenly on a sunny morning. It is anti-climatic and… wrong, somehow.

 

 Thelonious was raised in a very traditional way, surrounded by the Old Tales, the great epics, the tales about heroes and battles that mattered. Ever since he was a child, he longed to be like those heroes. To better the world in ways that were noticeable. Hunting down monsters will surely be remarkable. It will be memorable. There will be fables written about his courage and his accomplishments.

  
He unsheaths his small silver 9mm from the holster beneath his jacket. It is a far more elegant gun than the rifle slung over Charles’ shoulder or the shotgun the mute carries.  
  


Thelonious leads the way into the darkness.  
  


The cave smells of earth: wet and heavy; the sweet decaying smell of fallen leaves and the tangy smell of moss. There is blood on the walls and the ground; clothes forgotten in corners and furs piled on the far wall. It isn’t a very big cave. It felt lived in.

  
For a moment it seems to be terribly empty, then, Thelonious shifts and a figure seems to detach itself from the shadows.

  
At first glance it might look like a boy: a teen with dark filthy hair, an aquiline nose, big doe-like eyes, gangly limbs covered in rags.  
But a second glance shows a cruel tilt to the chin, bottomless eyes, a straight line for a mouth. It stands up abruptly, and the shadows shift around to accommodate it. Nostrils flared, eyes wide. Some would mistake this reaction for fear.

  
Thelonious knows better.  
  


Monsters don’t feel fear.  
  


Thelonious raises his gun.  
  


It seemed anti-climatic and felt wrong, somehow. This is not how it's supposed to end. But better a quick finish than to put people at risk.  
  


The morning sun gleams on the side of the gun. The shot rings loud in the quiet cave. The boy – monster – curls in on itself, shadows leapt at it.

  
The echo dies down. Charles' torch throws a garish square of light onto the walls of the clearly empty cave.

  
The creature isn’t there anymore: no body lays on the ground, no fresh blood splatters the walls.  
  


"NO!" howls Thelonious.

  
How? How is this possible?  
  


"It’s still in there!" comes Alie’s voice from where she stands, still controlling her machine with her phone. She never carries a weapon and never engaged in any physical confrontation.

  
The walls where the monster had been standing are covered in ivy and blooming Wisteria. Thelonious frowns, but for the life of him, he can't remember if the plants were there before. He turns to the mute, whose cigar smoking profusely even though there isn’t much left of it.  
  


"Burn it down," growls Thelonious.  
  


"You don’t think…" whispers Charles.

  
"Burn it down!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading and commenting :D


	7. Octavia

The guesthouse’s little breakfast buffet is very busy that morning since most of the rooms had been booked by Lexa’s and Octavia’s pack members. The only non-wolf in the room is a girl sitting in a corner, quietly reading a tattered paperback. Octavia located her as soon as she entered the room. She would have noticed her even if it weren’t the only human at the buffet because of the pungent putrid stench she emanates. She smelled like something rotten had crawled all over her and then died and was left in the sun for a few weeks.

  
Octavia chooses one of the only empty tables left and sits in a way she can keep an eye on the stranger.

  
She is alpha to her people, which means keeping track of all possible threats. The girl seems harmless enough, with her sparse toast and untouched mug of cold coffee, but one never knows, and Bellamy’s information about hunters in town has everyone on edge. This stranger arrived around the same time the hunters did.

  
Octavia does not believe in coincidences.

  
Miller waves at her from behind the buffet, a small smile on his kind face. He and his boyfriend Monty Green are the owners of this small and picturesque guesthouse. Octavia met them, back when she lived with her brother at the orphanage. They had been her friends. Right until the day Octavia turned against her brother and tried to take the pack from him.

  
She’s not sure what she would have done if she had won that particular fight.

  
Octavia hasn’t lost many fights in her life, but that is one she’s glad she never won; it took a while for her to understand that.  
  


Since their mother was never around and their respective fathers were unaccounted for, Bellamy practically raised her, sacrificed everything for her. They had been on their own since the beginning. As children they would sometimes cross paths with other packs – Lexa’s was one of them and she and Bellamy had been friends since they met. But being on their own, and with Bellamy being the older, more responsible sibling, meant they never noticed both of them had been born alphas.

  
How could they have known? It is rare for two alphas to be born in the same family, much less as brothers or in the same generation.

  
So, when Octavia hit the right age and started questioning her brother every step of the way, no one suspected anything. Right until she was beating him to a pulp. Octavia knows Bellamy would have gladly laid back and taken it. But his brother loved the pack as much as he loved his sister. When he noticed he was about to lose both, he fought back.

  
Octavia knows Bellamy had been in his right to kill her – she has killed enough adversaries that challenged her status as alpha. Instead he cast her out and took the pack away. Octavia knows she wouldn't have been able to lead the pack into a place like Dropship Valley.

  
The behemoth of a man that is her mate, Lincoln, sits down across her and pushes one of the two plates he was carrying over to her. Behind him, the girl with the paperback absently rubs her chest.

  
She coughs.  
  


"This place is so quaint," Lincoln sighs happily, sitting back on a chair that looks ridiculously small beneath him.

  
Octavia snorts. Lincoln digs into his healthy portion of scrambled eggs and bacon.  
  


"I guess it’s nice."

  
Octavia’s eyes keep falling on the girl with the paperback. The cough has intensified a little bit. Is that smoke curling out of her mouth?  
  


Lincoln cocks his head to the left.  
Everything he does is oddly soft and mild-mannered, which tends to clash with people’s expectations of him. They usually see this big muscle-riddled tattooed man and think: he must be a brute; he must be a brainless illiterate.  
  


Octavia knows he is anything but.  
That is one of the first things she noticed about him. Yes, he is cut like a Greek statue, yes, he is aggressively handsome but he has a great sensibility, kindness, and strange little interests he would pursue.

  
"Would you like to settle?" asks Octavia, trying hard not to bite the inside of her cheek.  
He would flourish in a place like this. Would have a white-picket fence and a flower-shop.  
Lincoln chews his food.

  
"No," he extends the massive hand not currently holding his fork. "I like discovering nice little quaint places with you."

  
She feels herself blush up to the tips of her ears and has to look away of his stupidly earnest face.

  
"You’re so corny."

  
The paperback girl claws at her chest, there is definitively smoke coming out of her mouth. 

Across the room, Miller asks her if she is ok.

  
Lincoln smiles cockily at him, leaning in for a kiss. Octavia bites his chin instead, turning her head out of his reach.  
  


The girl falls to the ground.  
  


"Fuck!"

  
Lincoln turns. A great number of wolves watch Miller crouch next to the human, his hands flapping uselessly around her head.  
  


The girl is twisting on the floor; her eyes wide open, coughing up big white globs of dense smoke.

  
"Someone call an ambulance!" shouts a wolf.

  
Octavia frowns. What is an ambulance going to do?  
  


"Someone call a witch," growls Lincoln.

  
"Clarke!" shouts Miller. "Monty bring Clarke!"

  
The ensuing crash is probably Monty rushing out of the room.  
  


"Is Clarke a doctor?" asks another wolf. "We should be calling a doctor."

  
"She’s the closest thing we have." explains Miller. "The nearest hospital is an hour and a half drive away."  
  


Octavia thinks she could probably make it in less. But anything more than a few minutes is probably more than that girl could make.

  
Lincoln inches closer, grabs Miller and pulls him away from the girl. Octavia throws a look at her pack, and they promptly stay away.  
  


"That one is cursed," explains Octavia’s mate.

  
Before Miller has time to answer in comes Clarke, accompanied by a disheveled looking Bellamy and an imposingly composed Lexa. Her pack promptly rushed to her side.

  
"What the hell!"

  
"Don’t touch her! She’s cursed."

  
Clarke elbows her way around Lincoln and looks into the girls eyes, puts her hands against her throat and then opens the old-fashioned coat and bodice, revealing an ugly scarred symbol that seems to have been branded on her sternum.

  
Lincoln growls. Lexa moves back. Clarke closes her eyes.

  
"Cursed."

  
Octavia has never seen anybody cursed before, but if Hollywood is to be believed, this looks a hell of a lot like it.

  
"Bellamy… I need to take her home."  
  


"You’re a witch?" one of the wolves asks Clarke.

  
"You married a witch?" Octavia turns to her brother.

  
"I am not a witch. But I knew one. I know how to help her."

  
Bellamy starts moving even before Clarke finishes speaking. He takes the girl in his arms and marches out of the breakfast room, closely followed by Clarke, Lexa, Octavia and Lincoln.

  
The guesthouse is only a few streets away from Bellamy’s house. The girl keeps coughing, smoke coming out of her mouth and nostrils and the corners of her eyes. Octavia is sure she is about to die.  
Then they barge into the little house, startling Alexander, who is promptly whisked away and up into his room by an ever-efficient Lexa.

  
Clarke runs around the house, gathering supplies or something, while the rest stand awkwardly around the couch. The blond cames back, carrying a heavy knife, bandages, a candle and tweezers.

  
"Clarke…!" warns Lincoln, but she ignores him.

  
"What are you doing?"

  
"See this?" she points at the strange symbol on the girl's chest. "This is linking her to something that is currently on fire. We need to link her to something else."

  
"Why not just break the link?" asks Octavia.

  
"Because I am not a witch. I don’t know how."  
  


"But you know how to transfer a link?"Lincoln sounds skeptic.  
  


"It’s easier. I’ve done it before."  
  


"When?"  
  


"When I was at school," she says and then stabs herself with the big knife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading and commenting :D


	8. Bellamy

Bellamy has seen a lot of weird stuff in his life. He regularly turns into a wolf and has a thing for chew-toys that is usually considered weird among most humans. But the brand on the smelly girl's chest is something he had only read about in rare occultism books. The bizarre energy coming from the girl and the way that brand sucks Clarke’s blood, making it vanish into the stranger's body… that is another level of crazy altogether. He doesn't like it one bit.

  
But, sure enough, the girl stops coughing, her frantic twitching subsiding and the nearly bulging eyes look a little bit less like they are about to pop out of her face.

  
Clarke takes her wounded hand off the girl’s chest, wrapping it efficiently with the bandages.

  
The wound makes him sick to his stomach.  
He was having so many words with his wife when this was over!

  
The girl inhales loudly.

  
"John," she whispers, blinking wildly around.  
She tries to sit up but Clarke pushes her back down onto the couch.

  
"Easy there." The blonde smiles. "You must rest."

  
The stranger seems baffled.  
"I need to go."

  
"You need to rest. You nearly died. What is your name?"

  
"Where… Where’s John?" There is a note of pure unadulterated panic in her voice.

  
"Nobody will harm you here," Octavia assures her. "You’re safe."

  
"I need to go."

  
"You need to rest," commands Clarke using her 'mom voice,' the one uses to get Alexander to eat his veggies and brush his teeth.

  
The girl stops squirming, looking up at Clarke with wide child-like eyes.

  
"Now," Clarke smiles. "What is your name?"

  
"E-emori?" she twists her hands.

  
Clarke nods. Behind her Lincoln and Octavia exchanged a look.

  
"Emori, do you know what happened? Do you remember anything?"

  
She twists her head to look at Bellamy, the bandana around her head shifting on her brow with the movement. There is something smeared beneath the cloth, but Bellamy can't really focus on anything on her, the stench too overpowering.

  
"You’re the ashamed dad with the cute kid from the store! You were mortified that the boy kept asking after my smell." Emori smiles dazzlingly at him.

  
Bellamy shrugs with half a smile. Emori sits up; the bandana falls off her head. The smudge on her forehead is very obviously a hole. Bellamy can see bits of bone around the edges and what he is pretty sure is the brain beyond that. Lincoln and Octavia reach for Clarke at the same time, pulling her back by her shoulders.

  
"I don’t know what happened. I need to find John." Emori continues.

  
Bellamy swallows, trying really hard not to stare at the hole in her head.

  
"Do you know what that brand on your chest means?"  
Emori looks down, which means that Bellamy has a lovely view of the inside of her skull for ten seconds longer than necessary. 

  
"It’s what links me to John" she blinks, heaving deep panicked breaths. "I can’t feel him anymore. W-what…?"

  
"I had to override the link" Clarke pipes up"You were… errr… You were choking on smoke."

  
The girl falls back against the couch. Then stands up in an explosion of sudden movement.

  
"I need to find him! He’s in danger."

  
"In danger from what?"

  
"Is he like you?" She turns to Bellamy, frowning.

  
"Like me?" then her eyes fall on the bandana. She touches the hole in her head with something akin to self-consciousness. "Oh. No. He… He’s… He’s something different. I… I need to find him. Please? He’s in danger. He can die. I can’t lose him."

  
Bellamy never was much into occultism, but there aren’t many things that could run around with their brain on display, and none of those are things he wants to be linked in any way to his mate.

  
But.

  
The girl looks younger than his sister and extremely lost. Bellamy was never able to walk away from a kid in distress. And she is in his territory, which means it is – technically – his responsibility to deal with the problem.

  
"Do you know where this John is?" Octavia turns to him so quickly he fears she might get whiplash. "Maybe we can find him. We have excellent trackers in town."

  
"He was in the forest on the north-east… L-look for a fire? Please, I need to find him."  
  


Bellamy nodds.

  
"Just stay put. I’ll call one of my trackers. Ok?"  
She sits down, picks the bandana up and wraps it around her head. It doesn’t help. Now that he knows it is there, he can't stop thinking about the hole in her head. She is so young… How long had she been dead? Who could have bashed her head in like that? Had she been linked to this John character before that or had he brought her back to life?

  
Bellamy pulls his phone from his back pocket and dials Finn’s number. The wolf answers after just two rings with a hopeful: “Collins.”

  
"I need you to track the forest on the north-east. Report back to me with any information on a fire."  
  


"On a fire?"

  
"Yes," growls Bellamy, his tone not leaving room for any questioning. "And do remember the hunters."

  
He hangs up before Finn can answer with something disrespectful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting


	9. Finn

Once upon a time, Finn Collins had been destined for great things, he is pretty sure of it. He could have been an astronaut; he could have been an actor, he could have studied medicine and discovered the cure for some rare disease. Instead, his best friend bit him by accident when they were children, and his life was ruined forever. He had to leave town following a leader like Bellamy Blake or risk being attacked by other wolves. He had been a kid when his best friend decided to run with that pack, and he followed like some love-sick-puppy. 

  
Later – much later – he learned that most humans didn’t carry the genetic marker that activated with the bite. Either you are born a wolf, or you aren’t.

   
It’s not like he has a bad life here at Dropship Valley, it's just not the life he wanted. Most of the time he feels like a big fish in a tiny pond. This small town might be enough for the 'great and powerful alpha' Bellamy Blake, but it most definitively isn’t for him. Still, even though he isn't a kid anymore, he can't leave the pack. Hunters would get him in the blink of an eye; other wolves would pick on him – most wolves don't like loners, especially half-blooded wolves like him.

  
Finn doesn't understand why everyone is so smitten with their alpha. Maybe it’s because he isn’t a real wolf. Maybe the alpha only has power over dim-witted full-blooded wolves, and he is immune.

  
Still, if he wants to remain in the pack, he has to do the alpha’s bidding. So he dons his jacket and starts his dirt bike with a powerful kick.

  
Why does nobody challenge Bellamy anyway? The town is crawling with different wolves now, different packs. How can they all be so calm and sure that nobody will start wreaking havoc? How can they all trust that none of these new alphas running around is here to dethrone the King?

  
Finn doesn't like all the possible variables that come with these strangers disrupting their quiet little town. If he were alpha, things would be different.

  
He stops the dirt bike suddenly, turning the growling motor off and listening intently.

  
Bellamy spoke of a fire, he can hear it. He can also smell it.

  
He kicks the bike back to life and races towards the smell.

  
A few minutes later he arrives at one of the caves that dot the east of the forest. He smells the pungent odor of a cigar, the flowery tang of perfume and the aggressive freshness of aftershave. It isn’t hard to distinguish the four sets of footprints. 

Whoever had set the fire hadn't been afraid of discovery. Finn can tell that it hasn’t been long since they left either. He approaches the cave carefully. The fire has been put out. Smoke still curls on the slightly vaulted ceiling of the cave.

  
He activates the torch on his phone, the eerie white light illuminating the soot-covered walls, curling dry leaves, what looks like the tattered remains of a blanket. The burnt trunk of an ivy plant that had been growing in a corner seems to be the thing the fire damaged the most. The corpse of the ivy plant, with its many branches twisted and blackened, completely leave-less, is unnerving.

 

Finn looks around, but there is nothing much to see. The most likely thing is that some homeless person used the cave to sleep and his fire burned the ivy down. End of story. Why would Bellamy be interested in this cave, this fire that isn’t a threat anymore? Who cares if some plant has been singed?  
The dead leaves on the ground rustles.  
There is a gurgling sound coming from somewhere beyond the torch’s light.  
Cautiously Finn inches his way further into the cave holding his phone up over his head.

  
His heart is pounding in his chest; he hears his blood rushing in his ears. He is nearly at the farthest wall, the ivy corpse growing just a few feet away from him. Finn can’t see the sound's source.

  
"Well. What do you know?" purrs a sweet paternal voice behind Finn. "We won’t be leaving empty-handed after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading


	10. Indra

Indra is not having a good day. It hasn't been a good week, and it is starting to look like it will keep going steadily south until she snaps some poor sods’ neck for the wrong reason.

  
Her bad day has a lot to do with the fact that her tiny beautiful town seems overrun with predators and there is definitively something fishy going on behind the sceneries. She knows there is something she is missing and she wholeheartedly dislikes missing stuff.

  
Also, the computers have been acting up all day, and they are crappy enough when they behave.

  
She slams a fist on the table in frustration the third time in the last twenty minutes the computer decides to freeze. Oh, how she misses the old monitors which you could slam around until they worked again. These flimsy flat screens everyone loves so much seem to have been created for the sole purpose of infuriating her.

  
She looks up. Marcus is slumped in his chair, staring straight ahead, absently biting the inside of his lower lip. 

  
Her computer problems momentary forgotten she stands up and walks over and into the tiny office, closing the door behind herself and pulling down the blinders. The sheriff station is empty for now, but privacy is a privilege she loves far too much to risk it.

  
Marcus doesn't move. He doesn't seem to see her.  
  


"What is this all about," she asks, her voice harsher than she intended.

 

"Am I a tool, Indra?"

  
One of her eyebrows crawls up her forehead on its own volition.  
  


"I hope this sudden existential crisis has nothing to do with the two hunters that were here yesterday."

  
"It’s just…" he rubs absently at the back of his head. "When I was at school…"

  
"Marcus, you’re not at school anymore. And what you’re doing here is good work."

  
He doesn’t look at her.  
  


Indra sigh. She knew nothing good could come from the hunters’ visit, but she didn't expect it to shake Marcus so much. She crouches in front of him, taking his hand in hers.

  
"When I was a cub, I set Mildred Johanson’s pigtails on fire and poured two buckets full of ants onto Aston Cooper and Terrance Philips."

  
He smiles faintly, squeezing her hand.  
  


"It feels so hopeless. They should just… Leave for a couple of weeks until the hunters go away. Any moment I fear that phone’s going to ring and it will be a massacre that I couldn’t prevent."

  
Indra knows the feeling far too well. For a very long time, she had been terrified of humans, scared that they would come in the night and pluck her from her bed, of the hunters lurking in the forests during the full moon, of not being strong enough to defend the people important to her. If her grandmama were to see her now “canoodling with the enemy,” she would die again.

  
But Indra is done being afraid.  
  
"Give them some credit, Marcus. Wolves are more resilient than that."

  
He takes a deep breath through his nose. His smile is weak as he squeezes her hand again.

  
"What would I do without you?"

  
"Probably wallow in misery."

  
He twists his head around, the neck popping loudly with tension.

  
"I’m ready to go out of here."

  
"It’s only four," she stands.

  
"Yeah. And I won’t doing anything today. Want to go home early? Some Netflix and chill? I hear it’s the latest trend," he waggles his eyebrows at her, which earns him one of Indra’s rare deep-throated laughs.

  
Their house isn’t far from the sheriff station. It smells pleasantly of the flowers Marcus likes to put in pots everywhere. It is a little bit too bright for Indra’s liking, but Marcus is a child in a man’s body, so he has to be always surrounded by things of soft beauty and light.

  
Their bedroom is the only dark thing in their little house and that only because Indra needs a dark place to sleep. She changes out of her uniform into her softest yoga pants and his oldest shirt while Marcus disappears into the kitchen to do… something.

  
She lays down on the sofa.  
  


The full moon is only hours away, and she is starting to feel it tugging at her, trying to unravel her human body into something more. There is the definite smell of flesh and blood hanging in the air when Marcus enters carrying a tray with a fresh steak cut into small cubes and a gin-tonic. He sits down next to her, leaning back on her belly. He too has changed out of his uniform and into a faded T-Shirt that once read SHIFTER-PRIDE in bold red letters and some khakis.

  
They met twenty years ago at that shifter-pride convention. Her friend Anya, who was always preaching about changing the world, forced her to accompany her to that pride convention. Back then Indra didn’t believe humans with no ties to the shifter-community gave a shit about their rights.

  
He picks one of the steak pieces, and Indra eats it shamelessly out of his hand.

  
Marcus puts on some silly movie on their TV, feeding her flesh and gin-tonic. Indra feels herself grow loose and content, the moon changing her slowly and perfectly into her other form The colors fading into grays and whites and blacks.

  
She feels herself purring contently, one of her giant paws pressing her tiny human against her chest. He buries into her fur caressing her muscular arms with a happy smile on his face. If the world refrained from ending in the next few hours, she would be happy to return to her crappy computer and keep chasing after drunk teens and noise disturbances near Gina’s Pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't shipped Indra and Kane romantically until now. I still value their friendship over their romantic interest, but this two seem to be in love here, so.... XDD 
> 
> Thanks for reading


	11. Roan

Roan loves watching football matches the days around the full moon. He has an on-going bet with the guys at the Azgeda power-plant about who will lose it during the match and turn. Having been raised under his mother’s tyrannical rule, Roan learned at a very young age that control is the essential quality to have. Watching people lose control is a source of great amusement for Roan.

  
He leans back on his sofa, a cool beer in a hand and a bowl of chips on the side table next to him. The moon isn’t up yet, and it won't be considered as a full moon until tomorrow. Still he can feel its luring song pulling at him, trying to force him to change.

  
Roan hasn’t changed since he was a very small child. His mother had hated that her children inherited their father’s shifter qualities and pushed them until they were able to completely supress the moon’s pull.  
  


On the other room, Roan can hear Raven pacing. He knows she will turn today. She is too agitated, too nervous. For the last half an hour she has been trying to contact Finn Collins – her childhood best friend. The pack leader called about thirty-four minutes ago. From where he had been sitting in the living-room he had heard Bellamy’s muffled voice “Have you seen him? He should have contacted me eight hours ago.”

  
Raven had made sure to call her alpha a “worrisome mother hen” and tell him that Finn was probably messing with him, trying to get on his nerves – which sounds extremely plausible coming from that wolf. Roan doesn’t know why they put up with the moody and self-righteous wolf, but he knows Raven cares deeply for him, so he keeps his opinions to himself – mostly.

  
But now, half an hour later, Raven has left nearly three dozen voice messages and is nearly tearing her hair out, while trying to be quiet and composed about it. Roan sighs and stands up. On the TV the match starts.

  
He knocks on their bedroom door. Raven is raking her hands through her hair, muttering under her breath. Roan can hear everything as if she were talking loud and clear.

  
"I am sure he’s fine," he says pushing his hands into his pockets.

  
Raven growls, half her face covered in hazelnut fur and one of her ears laying flat on her head.

  
"Where the fuck is he!"

  
Roan takes a deep breath, entering slowly into the room until he is close enough to touch Raven’s neck. She stills, eyes wide and yellow-orange fixed on him.

  
It is no fun watching Raven lose her cool. If anything that is one of the worst things in the world. Raven is always level-headed and on top of things.

  
Roan runs his hands through the short fur growing on the back of her neck until she starts to relax.

  
"Do you want me to go look for him?"

  
She shakes her head no.

  
"I’ll go" her words came mangled due to her half-transformed vocal cords and starts unbuttoning her shirt.

  
Roan pressed his lips together.

  
"You think it’s a good idea?"

  
"He’s somewhere out there. And he has zero self-control. He will shift" he takes over undressing Raven when her hands won't stop shaking.

  
"There are hunters out there. It will be dangerous."  
She was lying back on their bed when he unclasps the brace around her leg and pulls her pants down. The body shivers once before the transformation is complete. Her bad leg twisted awkwardly next to his hand. 

He pulled the wolf-brace she made herself out of the closet and straps it in place. Raven watches every move, her tongue hanging out the side of her short muzzle.  The tips of her ears – now standing at attention towards him - are flecked with white. 

Roan caresses the fur on her cheek and down her throat while she kicks her bad leg a bit to get used to the feel of the brace. She jumps down from the bed, her fluffy tail trailing behind her. He doesn't want her to leave. 

For a moment he entertains the idea of turning and going with her into the forest. Two eyes are better than one. But he hasn’t turned in twenty years. Manipulating his other body would be a nightmare. So he opens the door for her and watches her disappear into the darkness.

  
Somewhere in the distance someone howls. Raven answers. Roan presses his lips together and leaves the door open for her to come back in. He has lost his interest in the match. His beer is warm by now. He switches the TV off and sits on the floor, legs crossed beneath him and starts with the breathing exercises he learned as a child to ignore the moon's .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting:D


	12. Alexander

Alexander wakes early that day. It is finally here: the day of his Moon Birthday. Dad says it was a very special birthday for the wolves. That’s why auntie O and aunt – never auntie, little pup – Lexa have come all the way down to Drowpship Valley. Alexander asked if grandma Abby was coming, too, but mom just looked sad and said she didn’t know if grandma could make it.

  
But even if she didn’t, it is going to be the best birthday ever.

  
He sneaks out of the house and into the backyard where daddy taught him how to catch rabbits. The woman that smells funny – Emori – is pacing. Yesterday he wasn't allowed to talk to her. Aunt Lexa kept him in his room and played with him on the race-track-carpet. It turned into a very dangerous and bloody game, filled with exciting explosions and dangerous mad cars. 

  
Emori stops pacing when he jumps onto the short grass. He likes walking barefoot on the grass, but mom only lets him do it around the full moon. The rest of the time he has to put on socks and his Avengers’ trainers.

Emori cocks her head.  
She wears a bandana, like a pirate, and odd clothes.

  
"Are you a pirate?"

  
The woman smiles, sitting on the damp grass. She doesn't seem to mind that her trousers are getting wet and dirty. Alexander likes adults that don’t mind getting dirt on their clothes.

  
"Why do you ask?" her voice is nice. 

  
"Because of the bandana. I have a book with pirates, and they wear bandanas like that."  
Emori touches the cloth around her head. "It’s like a bandage. Because I have wound up here."

  
"Can I see?"  
  
"You won’t get scared? It’s pretty ugly."

  
Alexander straightens, squaring his shoulders back as daddy does. Emori smiles and pulls the cloth back. The wound looks icky. It is a very big jagged hole. Alexander knows that the squishy thing behind the edges of the hole is her brain. His mom loves fried brain, but he hasn't tried it.  
  


"Does it hurt?"

  
"Nope."

  
"Can I touch it?"

  
"Yeah."  
He touches the edge of the hole. It is weirdly sharp. Putting his fingers into the hole is a little frightening because the edges look a little like an open maw. The tissue of the brain feels slippery and soft. He pushes his fingers down and sees the imprints slowly stretching back out of the brain when he raised his fingers.

  
"Wow."

  
"Yeah."

  
"Why is it green?"

  
"It’s rotting. That’s why I smell bad. I am sorry."

  
"But," he frowns, "if it’s rotting, shouldn’t you be dead?"

  
Emori leans back, her long hair brushing the grass.  
"You ever heard of zombies, Alexander?" she smiles without turning her head to him.

  
Alexander has heard of zombies. He saw zombies in scary movies when Monroe came over to babysit, and once in the news, someone had stolen some brains. Dad had turned the TV off before he could hear anything else. 

 Emori doesn't look like the zombies in Monroe’s movies. For starters, her skin isn't green or pale but brown and gold. She talks normally, and she also walks like everyone else. Yes, she has a limp, but so does Raven, and she is a wolf, not a zombie.

  
"You can’t be a zombie."

  
Emori laughs. It is a nice laugh, not like the laughs of the bad guys in movies.

  
"Hollywood hasn’t seen that many zombies. They got us all wrong."

  
"Do you want to eat my brain?" he squirms.

  
He points his senses towards her like daddy and Miller taught him to do whenever something is threatening or scary. Even though she still smells really bad she isn't scary or threatening. 

  
"I don’t like wolf brain. It’s very hairy."

  
Alexander knows it was meant as a joke, but it wasn’t funny. His mom isn't a wolf, and if Emori doesn't like wolf brain because it's hairy, then she will have no problem with mom’s brain. As if sensing his train of thought Emori rubs his head.

  
"I can’t eat your mom’s brain either. She’s my link now." That seems to make her sad. "That’s why I can’t leave here either. She has ordered me to stay."

  
That makes a lot of sense. "Yeah, mom can be scary when she uses her Mom Voice. Dad calls her Princess when she does."  
But Emori still looks sad. She isn’t allowed to be sad. Today is his Moon Birthday. Nobody is allowed to be sad on his birthday.

  
"What does it mean that she’s your link?"

  
"She’s what’s keeping me here. If something bad happens to her, it will happen to me too."

  
"Nothing bad will happen to my mom. She has dad to protect her. So, nothing bad will happen to you either." Alexander gives her his best smile.

  
"Do you want to play? I’ve seen some cool toys in that box over there."

  
"Can you play Frisbee?"

  
"I have never tried."

  
"It’s cool. And I can do cool tricks with it. Do you want to see?"

  
Alexander rushes over to the box full of garden-toys and picks his neon-green Frisbee. It takes a little to teach Emori how to play, and she can run only a short distance and only very slowly, so she usually can't catch the flying disc as he can. But she laughs at his tricks and doesn’t look sad anymore.

  
He can hear noises coming from the house by the time the bell rings Alexander knows that on his birthday grandma will send a squeaky toy for him – mom always looks livid when he openes his grandma’s presents. The toys are usually very ugly chickens, but it is nice getting packages, and he loves the bubble wrap.

  
So when the bell rings that day, he scurries to the door before any of the adults can get there.

  
It isn't the mailman standing there, but a very tall black man he hasn’t seen in his life.

  
"Well," says the man smiling down at him, "if it isn’t the young Alexander."

  
The man’s voice is very nice, kind and soft. He offers him a lollypop.

  
"I hear it’s your birthday."

  
"It’s my Moon Birthday," Alexander tells the man because it was important to differentiate a normal boring birthday from the cool Moon Birthdays.

  
The man crouches in front of him. He has short curly white hair and big kind eyes.

  
"Is that so?"

  
"Alexander! I’ve told you not to…" mom’s voice dies behind him. "Uncle Thel," her voice wavers. She cleares her throat. The man stands back up.

  
"Hello, Clarke."

  
He hears mom swallow behind him.

  
"Alexander, why don’t you go clean up for breakfast."

  
She shooes him down the corridor.  
Alexander looks over his shoulder at the dark man. He is two heads taller than mom.

  
Alexander didn't know he had an uncle.

  
"Aren’t you going to invite me in, Clarke?" is the last thing Alexander hears the man say before he closed the bathroom door and climbs on his stool to wash his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To write from the perspective of a small child is harder than it ought to. Sorry if I messed it up.  
> Shit's about to hit the fan.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting


	13. Thelonious

To say that breakfast is an uncomfortable affair is probably the understatement of the century. Before anyone can stop it, Alexander brings Emori in and sits her at the table. 

Which means that, when Clarke enters the kitchen, followed by Thelonious Jaha, there are three wolves and a zombie sitting at the table. Bellamy freezes, Lexa twirls the butter knife between her fingers and Alexander pulls on Emori’s hand for her to look at his Dora, the Explorer dish.

  
"Uncle Thel," Clarke enunciates every word carefully, "meet my husband, Bellamy."

  
Thelonious Jaha steps forward, extending a hand. His smile is kind even though he has to fight the urge to unsheathe his hunting knife and cut that wolf’s throat. "A pleasure to meet you," he says instead

This animal nods. "Can I offer you some coffee?"

  
"That would be great."

  
He can nearly hear the animal’s teeth grinding together. Clarke clears her throat. The monster sits between the pup and a she-wolf, looking as dead and repulsive as always. Thelonious smiles through the introductions, sitting between Clarke and her wolf-husband – he shudders thinking about it: how his beautiful goddaughter has debased herself… Her father would weep if he could see her now.

  
"And what brings you here, uncle Thel?"

  
"Well, I had business nearby, and I heard from your mother that you had a beautiful child," he looks at the boy. With his tan skin and enormous doe-like eyes, he looks innocent, but the façade doesn't fool Thelonious. "And I thought I’d swing by to visit my only goddaughter." Clarke smiled at him. "When I got here, I discovered that I was exactly right on time to celebrate a birthday."

  
Alexander smiles brightly. Thelonious still isn't fooled. Clarke hums biting chewing her toast and jam. 

  
The she-wolf sitting next to the monster doesn't even pretend to eat, staring at Thelonious instead. She's probably trying to wrap her stupid head around the fact that she can't attack him. If she did so in the forest, maybe she could get away with it. Some other wolf would get the fall. But here, in a human town, with human police-officers… She would be put to sleep.

  
Thelonious takes the coffee mug to his lips.  
"Tell me, Clarke. What were you thinking?"  
The girl looks at him with her wide blue eyes that remind him of her father.

  
"Beg pardon?"

 

"What were you thinking when you decided to start committing bestiality."

  
Clarkes gasps  
  


"Come, Alexander, let’s get out and play" whispers the monster standing up.

  
"You stay right there!"

  
The boy shrinks and the zombie sits back down. Clarke'ss pale, her eyes wide, hands shaking on her lap.

  
"I really want to know, before I put an end to this farce."

  
"And you?" the monster’s voice is low and shy, but her stare doesn't waver. "What were you thinking when you slammed that axe into Well’s brain?"

For a moment Thelonious can only gape at the girl, anger thrumming in his. His brain feels clogged with images of monsters crawling all over his beautiful baby boy. 

His body moves without his brain ever giving the command. His right hand shoots up and slamming Clarke's head on the table. With his left swipes one of the knives off the table and into the she-wolf's chest. Clarke's husband falls on him, claws tearing his jacket. Thelonious manages to hold it back with a hand on its throat. The other finds the handle of his hunting knife. He thrusts it up into the writhing wolf. It gives a high-pitched whine, eyes growing large, claws going to the wound.

 He thrust it up into the writhing wolf. The wolf gave a high-pitched whine, it’s eyes growing large, it’s claws going to the cut like he could hold it together.

  
Someone screams. Thelonious ignores it. It has to be done.  He slams the wolf’s head on the floor and the beast stays down, eyes glassy and blood tickling out of its hairline. He'll kill them later. The monster is his primary target.

  
In the meantime, the monster has picked the child up and staggers towards the kitchen door. 

Thelonious wrenches the knife from the male wolf. Clarke stands in his way. Her hands shaking where she holds them raised in front of herself. The hunter advances on her, behind her, the monster staggers drunkenly. She still hasn't reached the door. 

Thelonious advances, slashing the knife at her. Clarke scrambles out of the way, right into his waiting left hook. She falls, and he kicks her in the stomach for good measure. He doesn't want to hurt his goddaughter, she' was just being childish: like a kid trying to defend a rabid dog. It isn’t her fault. She doesn't understand.

  
The monster shakes, propped up by the doorframe, a purplish bruise slowly materializing on her temple. 

  
Ah, how he despises all this senseless violence. The pup has vanished. Well enough, it is distasteful to kill puppies and he doesn't want to do it in front of Clarke. She wouldn’t understand.

  
The monster straightens. Her eyes shine with a power Thelonious recognised all too well. A power that doesn't belong to her.

  
"Leave this place," says a voice that doesn't belong to her.

  
Thelonious seethed with anger.  
"HOW DARE YOU USE HIS VOICE!"  he lunges forward but doesn't reach her. Can't reach her.

  
"Leave this place" repeats the monster with that same young boyish voice, dark and rich and so full of power.

  
With a cry, Thelonious slams his body against the invisible barrier trying to contain him.  
  
"I. Said" the monster does something strange with her fingers. "Leave. This. Place." He understands what it is, but it's late. "Now."

  
There is a flash of blinding light. Or maybe it's a flash of absolute darkness. For a moment he hears the agonising sounds of painful panting and the sick wet noise of gaping wounds. He hears his boys’ voice “Dad, please!”

  
Then. Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was supposed to be a funny chapter. But Thelonious went bat-shit-crazy on me- how I hate this guy. Also maiming and torturing Bellamy's just too much fun to resist when a crazy maniac offers to start stabbing him.  
> I think shit's going to start hitting fans real soon. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and commenting.


	14. Alexander

Alexander has been scared of many things in his life. Mom and dad say it is normal to be afraid sometimes, and they always helped make the fear go away. They are mom and dad, and that is their job. There is no world where they can't make the nightmares go away, or the scary things not-scary anymore.  
But the nice man turned on mom and dad and…

  
Alexander has never seen anything as scary as that knife going into his papa. There is no more terrifying sound than her mama’s screams. 

 

Alexander wanted to be brave, to be strong, like the wolves in the pack. He wanted to jump at this big man and make him stop like he had made the rabbit stop a few months ago in the backyard. But he couldn’t move. He had been paralyzed until Emori took him in her arms.

  
"Run," she whispered, or shouted, and his feet had done precisely that, even though his mind was still blank and he couldn’t think and didn’t know where he was running.

  
He stumbles to a stop, breathing heavily. Tears well up in his eyes.

  
Alexander has no idea where he is. He had never ventured this far into the forest before, least of alone. He wants to call his mom but is scared. What if the man hears him? What if he finds him?

  
He sinks onto the leaf-covered floor, hugging his legs against his chest.

  
The forest always smelled nice, always felt safe here, but today every shadow could be the man and…

  
He pushes his hands over his mouth to muffle the sobs.

 

"Why are you crying?"

  
Alexander yelps, startled by the sudden voice. A stranger is standing in front of him. He is dirty, and his clothes are torn, even burnt in places. Hise has long hair falls around his face, tangled with roots and green leaves. His huge green eyes glow.

  
Alexander sniffles.

  
"Who are you?"

  
"Me? I’m no one." the stranger saunters closer to where Alexander and plops down next to him. He takes a very filthy rag from one of the pockets in his cargo pants. "Here."

  
Alexander stares at the rag for a moment before taking it and blowing his nose. When he tries to give it back, the stranger throws him a crooked smile.

  
"You keep it. So. Why are you crying?"

  
Alexander swallows. He doesn't want to think about it, but he can't stop seeing that knife plunging into his dad’s side. Can't stop hearing the sound her mom made as she fell to the ground. He tries squeezing his eyes shut, but the images are burned behind his eyelids.

  
"Hey. Kid. I still can’t read minds."

  
"He was killing them," Alexander whispers. "He was so angry. I could smell it on him. And Emori only made it worse." The stranger beside him stiffens, but Alexander doesn't notice. "She told me to run with the commanding voice. Like mom’s when she wants me to tidy up my room. But stronger. I couldn’t stop running."

  
The stranger stays silent for a moment.  
"Well. That was a pretty shitty day; I'll give you that" he pauses. "But I bet ya’ mine’s worse."

  
"How can it be worse?"

  
\- Well. For starters, someone set me on fire. Then I had to claw myself out of a tomb. That wasn’t fun at all. When I got myself out, I discover they had taken everything I had: no food, no water, no change of clothes, no nothing." The stranger rubs the side of his nose. "I can’t seem to remember where I am. And I am searching for my friend, but she’s nowhere to be found." A beat. "What do you think? Was yours worse?"

  
Alexander frowns, thinking intently.  
Being burned and buried seems pretty shitty things to happen. Also scary.  Two years ago Alexander touched the hot iron, and that hurt a lot. He can't imagine how it would feel if he were set on fire. Also, he has plenty of clean clothes, and his tummy is full of breakfast. He didn’t need to run around on his dirty clothes. Mom wouldn’t let him.

  
"You didn't eat breakfast?"

  
The stranger snorts. It is a deep rumbling sound. His green eyes aren't shining so much now. There is a thick smudge around his throat, like a deep purple necklace.

  
Alexander pulls a packet of dino cookies out of his trouser's pocket. The cookies are all broken, but they still taste good. He offers them to the stranger.

  
"My name is Alexander Blake-Griffin," he says, enunciating his last name carefully.

  
The stranger looks at him without moving. "My friends call me Murphy."

  
He takes the cookies, playing with the plastic package like he doesn't know what to do with it. Alexander opens the packet for him.

 Murphy takes the head of one of the cookies, looking at it like it was the first time he sees one. Maybe his mom didn’t buy him any dino cookies.

 

A tear runs down his cheek. Alexander had never seen an adult crying before. He always thought that adults didn’t cry.

 

He tries to put his head on Murphy's shoulder like dad sometimes does when he is feeling bad, but he is too tall, so he finds himself awkwardly leaning against his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, there you are, Murphy. I missed you :D 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting.


	15. Alie

Alie is tired. She is tired of running around with fools that don't know what they are doing. She is tired of hunting a prize that constantly slips through her fingers. She is tired of getting denied and pushed aside and ignored by mediocre people.

  
She is the only reason this bumbling pile of idiots is anywhere near their objective. These hardened macho types like Charles Pike and these crazy fundamentalists like Thelonious Jaha have no clue what they are up against. They make good foot soldiers – especially the macho type - being easily manipulated and itching so much for a fight, they won’t hesitate to harm whoever stands in their way. The fundamentalists are slightly trickier – and the reason this is taking so long. Jaha can’t focus on the big picture; he is continuously side-tracked with his quests to rid the world of shifters. Which is all nice and well, but they are so close…

  
Alie doesn't give a fuck about the shifters. What she wants is power. Power the likes of which is only featured in legends. She knows it exists, has witnessed it first-hand and she knows that once harnessed, she'll be able to change the world. But getting that power is tricky, more so since it has been stuffed inside some weird shifter that doesn’t want to part with it.

  
Alie doesn't care much for violence. She likes it better when things go her way without bloodshed – that always leads to more violence and insanity. Violence is a plague in this world, and it should be eliminated. But, even though she doesn't like it, she understands it’s raw, primal efficiency. That’s why she keeps Pike around. That man doesn't have much going on in the brains department, but he is an expert in violence. 

For brains, she enlisted Jaha.  
And everything would be going much smoother if her tactical brain wasn’t currently slumped against some dustbins in the back of their motel. She presses her lips into a fine white line.

  
If Jaha wants to hunt wolves, he should do so in his free time and stop messing with her plans.

  
"What happened?" she asks, her voice cool and composed even though she's seething with suppressed anger.

  
"I saw the monster," he stumbles up, his eyes fever-bright. "It… It was with the alpha of Dropship Valley’s resident clan."

  
"Which one?"

  
"The female one."

  
Alie raises an eyebrow.  
"And she beat you up and teletransported you here?"

  
"It… It had my son’s power. It stole my boy's power and used it against me!"

  
Alie suppresses the urge to roll her eyes at him. His son had been a powerful magician, and he’d been involved in some dark spell-work, that the result of said spellwork would carry his magical signature was to be expected. Still, Jaha is in a boat of denial about what his son had been doing before his death, and, if she wants him focused, she can’t risk him stepping out of denial anytime soon. As soon as all that needs to be done is done, he can wallow in misery and hunt down every last shifter in the world if he wants. She doesn’t care.

  
Up until now only one of their preys presented magical talent, and it had never been aggressive. It was always camouflage, or a trick to flee. But if both of them have magical abilities… If both can access the magical signature left behind by the Jaha-boy, then they are in a worse position than she originally thought.

  
"So… You’re saying that she’s with the wolves? At the house of this alpha dog?"

  
Jaha nods. "They have my goddaughter, too."

"We have the two wolves," says Charles. "I suggest we kill them and put their heads on stakes."

  
"You’re a barbarian, Charles," purrs Alie.  
"No. We will release one of the wolves to relay a message to their alpha. We will kill the one we have if they don’t give the monster to us."

  
Charles huffs. Alie doesn't mind. If they can control the girl, the other monster will come easily enough. Alie has enough grimoires to know half a dozen tying spells. If she can tie the girl to herself, control her, the rest will be a piece of cake.

  
"Well," she turns to Charles, "you should prep the wolves. I suggest taking the crippled one."

  
Charles Pike smiles and vanishes into the room. After a moment Alie follows him.  
The two wolves are crammed inside small but sturdy dog- cages in the narrow bathroom. They are stuck between human and wolf in a grotesque mixture that is both and neither.  
Alie studied these creatures extensively during her twenties, and it was always these halfway through status that fascinated her the most.

  
Charles puts on sturdy leather gloves, picks up a shock-baton from one of his two suitcases. Upon closer inspection, the suitcase looks more like a macabre box of torture.

  
Her curiosity hums in her veins. She watches Charles as he delivers a shock to the girl in the cage rendering her momentarily paralyzed, and drags her out of the cage. The other wolf starts yapping instantly.

  
Charles doesn't seemed concerned by this. He kicks the side of the cage.

  
"You wanna take her place?" The wolf whimpers and tucks its bushy tail between its legs. "That’s what I thought."

Alie doesn't care for violence; there are more refined ways of doing things than by sheer force. What has been won by violence, can easily be lost the same way. But there is beauty in certain aspects of it. When she followed Charles into the room she wanted to study him in his natural element; she didn't think she would find anything fascinating about it. It isn't the first time she sees someone molding the will of somebody else into the desired shape. But Charles has a way of tearing slowly into the core of that wolf that speaks of technique and thought and planned beyond what she expected from this squared little man. Oh! How wrong she had been about him! How they has squandered his talents all these years! What a terrible shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading :D


	16. Roan

Roan is beside himself with worry, which is evident by the fine soft dusting of down on his skin. He woke early that morning to an empty bed and a Ravenless house. At first he thought nothing of it. Sometimes, when Raven can't sleep, she walks over to the garage where she works to tinker with engines. Surely she is there.  
But.

  
But the brace for her human leg still stands next to the dresser, where she can easily pick it up and put it on. Her crutches are also in the house. Not that she like using those, but sometimes the leg is inflamed and the brace rubs the wrong way and she has to deal with the crutches.  
  


It was still early, he reasoned. He wouldn’t panic just yet. Maybe she had gone directly to the garage.

  
At ten o’clock Fox calls to ask if Raven's sick? She hasn’t come to the garage.  
  


Roan has called Bellamy. Raven had gone find Finn, surely she would’ve reported back to their alpha. But no one answered. He left a message and called Miller – in the wolf hierarchy he is the third in command.

  
"Have you seen Raven?" he barks as soon as someone picks up the phone.

  
"Why hell to you, too, Roan. How’s it been? Me? I’ve been busting my ass with work, the hotel is running very well. Thanks for asking."

  
Roan pinches the bridge of his nose and counts to five.  
"Monty," he says very deliberately, slowly and precisely, "is Miller there?"

  
He hears a huff and then. "Nate! Raven’s mate’s on the phone!"

  
He contains the urge to roll his eyes. Yeah in pack terms either you belong to someone in the pack, or you are as good as non-existent. Not that he minds, pack policies, and pack rules are lost on him. He doesn't care about them; he only cares about one wolf in this town and that wolf is currently missing.  
  


"Hello?"  
  


"Have you seen Raven?" barks Roan in lieu of a greeting.

  
"When is the last time you saw her?" always the efficient type.

  
"Yesterday. After Finn disappeared."  
There is a beat.  
  


"Have you spoken to Bellamy?"

  
"I couldn’t get a hold of him," growls Roan, feeling the pull of tonight’s full moon humming in his veins, disrupting the iron grip he has on himself.

  
"Ok. Don’t worry. She’s probably still searching for Finn. I’ll keep you posted."  
Miller hangs up, and Roan is left pacing in his home. When he can't take it anymore, he steps out of the house and starts combing the town, looking into all her usual haunts, any place that might have looked like a good hiding place. Maybe she was hurt. Maybe she…

  
He cuts that thought at the root.

  
By the time he arrives at Gina’s, his whole body itches with down he hasn’t grown since he was an awkward teenager. He feels fidgety and every shining surface holds ten times as much appeal as it usually does. The bartender sports a bright grin, a hickey where her throat meets her jaw. And her bar has a serious lack of Raven in it.

  
"Hey, Roan?" she seems younger, brighter. "What can I do for you?"

  
Her happiness makes his blood burn.

  
"Have you seen Raven?"

  
She frowned slightly.  
"No. She hasn’t come over. You guys ok?"

  
"Fine."  
He turns to go.

  
"If you see her," he says opening the door. "Tell her to call me."

  
"Of course."

  
He storms out.

 

 The skin around his nose and mouth itches. 

His mind keeps going back to the “what-ifs,” picturing Raven’s body twisted and lifeless on the side of some road.

  
Roan stops. There are no other places to check but the forest.

  
It is nearly noon when he gets a call from Gina.

  
"Have you seen her?"

  
"Yes, she’s… She’s," Gina clears her throat. "She’s at the bar."

  
"I’ll be back in…" he looks around, utterly lost. "I’m coming."

  
Roan hangs up and checks the sky. He doesn't usually venture this far into the woods, he isn't used to hiking and knows that, if it has taken him two hours to get here, it will take him at least as much to go back. 

Unless…  
  


The decision is made before he has even time to think it through. He unties his boots pulls off his clothes. The moon’s suggestion of another body is there, clawing at his defenses like some rabid animal. Roan closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath, and lets go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading


	17. Gina

When Roan leaves the bar, Gina is left with a very bad feeling. 

  
Roan and Gina grew up together but were never friends. She always found him kind of a dick, with his attitude and his way of pushing everyone over the edge. 

  
In all her life Gina has never seen him anything other than utterly composed. She never believed Roan could show any emotion other than smugness and mild irritation.

But Gina and Raven are friends. So, when Roan comes into her bar asking if she has seen the wolf, Gina closes down the bar and jumps into her car. 

She makes a left turn onto Main Street and keeps going, straight out of Dropship Valley. If she isn't in town, she has to be somewhere.  
  


Gina finds the wolf was ten miles away from the town. The wheels screech when she stops.

  
"Raven!"

  
The wolf growls at her when she jumps out of the car. Gina has had the privilege of seeing many wolves in her life, but she has never seen one transform.  She guessed they went from human to wolf, but Raven is neither wolf nor woman. Her naked body is humanoid, her hands neither paws nor hands, a small tail trailing between her legs. Her face covered in fur, half a muzzle growling with a mishmash of human teeth and fangs. One of her ears lays flat against her head.

  
"Raven," The closer Gina comes, the more horrified she feels.

  
Not only is her friend's body a gruesome sight but it is covered in bruises, the complicated brace she usually wears is missing, and her bad leg was broken and twisted beside her.

  
She growls at Gina, her mismatched eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

  
"Raven, it’s me, Gina. You remember me? From town. I am your friend."

  
Raven blinks. "Gina?" Her voice is garbled, unrecognizable and that single word nearly incomprehensible.

 

"Yeah. That’s me. Dear old Gina. Can I take you somewhere? A doctor? A vet?" Even with her wolfish face, Raven manages to level her with a very Raven-like unimpressed scoff. Gina laughs nervously, and the wolf gives her a pained smile. "I am going to come closer, ok? And I am going to help you into my car, how does it sound?"

  
Raven looks over to the parked car and nods her head.

  
She whimpers when Gina touches her, growls once and whines again. Getting her into the car is harder than Gina expected since she is a very large wolf and the bartender isn’t that strong, to begin with.

  
Once she is safely inside the car, and they are moving again, back to Dropship Valley, Raven starts dozing.

  
"Take me to the bar?" she mumbles.

  
"You sure you don’t want to go to a doctor?"  
  


Raven shakes her head no.  
"No doctor. The bar."

  
"I’m not sure I can serve you tequila in your current state."

  
"Your bar is our emergency safe room," she says, her eyes dropping close.

  
"How don’t I know that?"

  
"It’s the most defensible place in all Dropship Valley. It’ll be safe."

  
After that, she falls asleep. It isn’t a long ride to the bar, but Gina can’t stop looking at Raven, the bruises weren’t visible underneath the fur, but there is way too much blood.  
Raven wakes once she parked in front of the door, which means Gina doesn’t have to carry the giant wolf.

  
Once Raven is safely laying in one of the booths, Gina calls Roan. She tries contacting Bellamy, since he is the alpha, but no one picks up. So she calls Monroe instead.  
  


"Hey, hon," is the cheery reply, "missing me already?"

  
She smiles at that, even though she is currently cleaning Raven’s wounds. There is so much blood.  
  


"Monroe..."

  
"What’s wrong?"

  
"I found Raven… She’s at the bar… She’s…" Gina clears her throat. "She’s wounded pretty bad. I don’t know what happened and I can’t get a hold of your alpha. Can you…?"

  
"I’m coming. I’ll swing by Bellamy’s to get him, and we’ll come over. Ten minutes, ok?"

  
"Thank you."

  
Ten minutes later the door crashes open, and Miller and Monty rush in.

  
"What’s happened?"

  
Gina explains how she had found Raven while Miller checks Raven’s wounds with a drawn face.

  
"Where the hell is Bellamy?" growls Raven, her bloodshot eyes clearly unhappy about the alpha’s absence.

  
"Monroe went to his house. We were at the store when you called" explains Monty.  
That's when they hear the loud crash outside. A second later the door bangs open and some sort of feathered monstrosity bangs its way into the bar. Gina has seen many crazy things in her life, but a giant human-sized raven _is_ a novelty.

  
The crow-man stumbles its way towards them, flapping its wings to keep its balance and throwing black feathers everywhere.

  
They gape at him for a minute, no one knowing what to do about that sudden appearance. Then the feathers retreat, revealing a very disheveled and very naked Roan. 

 

He stumbles forward, shaking his wings and his shoulders, eyes fixed on Raven.

  
"I am never doing this again," he growls rushing over to Raven’s side. "What happened to you?" he brushes his feather-covered hand over her brow.

  
She tries a smile.  
  


"Roan."  
  


He works his jaw, opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the door banging open once more. Bellamy, Monroe and Clarke squeezing through. The two women are holding the alpha between them. He is covered in sweat and shaking.

Bellamy falls heavily in the seat. A fourth figure coming in behind them, closing the door softly.

 

"What happened here?" he growls, eyes bright, nearly yellow.

  
Gina feels the sudden urge to flee. Being the only human in a place full of wounded shifters is not a good place to be. Monroe squeezes her shoulder with a smile; her braid mused and falling wildly about her shoulders.  
  


"I found Raven ten miles away from Dropship Valley. Shouldn’t she be healed by now? I thought you guys had extra healing factor or something."

  
Roan snorts.  
  


"The advanced healing is a myth," explains Monty, he looks pale. "What happened to you?"

  
"I got stabbed by Clarke’s godfather."  
The blond – was currently checking Raven’s wounds throws her husband a dirty look.  
  


"Are you all ok? What about Alexander?"

  
"Lexa is looking for him, he got scared and ran into the forest. She got the butter-knife to the chest. I had the silver knife to the liver."

  
"He didn’t stab you in the liver; the liver’s not even close," mumbles Clarke without taking her eyes of Raven.

  
She has a small medical kit with her and is currently stitching a nasty cut on Raven’s leg.  
  


"Anyway, what happened to you, Raven?"

  
"I went looking for Finn. I found him, but he was bait. Hunters got us both."

  
"How did you escape?"

  
"I didn’t. They let me go," she looks like she is about to cry.

  
"What? Why?" Bellamy frowns.

  
"They said they would accept an exchange. Finn for the monster that was at your house."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will come more spaced from now on, since I just started a new job which won't allow me to write as often as I'd wish.
> 
> Thank so much for reading.


	18. Lexa, Octavia & Lincoln

How difficult can it be to find a pup in a forest? As it turns out: very difficult.

  
Lexa stops again to sniff the air, ears keen, eyes sharp. The world inside a forest is always darker, richer in smells and sounds; she loves the forest; grew up traveling through them and they always felt like home.  
Not this one. Not now.  
  


She is an experienced tracker, can sniff a deer out at over than fifteen kilometres, but the pup’s smell is all over the place, mixed with something else she can't pinpoint. Something she can't name.

  
In all her years she never came close to something like this, and it keeps guiding her in circles.

  
The fourth time she comes to a stop in front of the tiny patch of white mushrooms, she lets out an exasperated roar. She kicks a stone into the fairy ring, turns into a random direction and walks in a straight line away from the mushroom patch.

  
Only to land right in front of it twenty minutes later.

  
She stops, her claws threatening to tear into the palms of her hands.  
This is no good at all.

  
She circles the mushroom patch, poking the white mushrooms with a toe.

  
Could it be that she had crossed it? No, she would’ve noticed.

  
"Are you stuck?"  
Lexa turns, claws at the ready and lips pulled back to reveal her teeth. Octavia leans against a tree, her arms crossed over her chest and a shit-eating grin on her lips. Her mate looms dangerously behind her.

  
Lexa is not impressed.

  
"There are things better left alone," is all she has to answer and Lincoln throws her an approving half-smile.

  
"I suppose you haven’t managed to find Alexander," says Octavia flippantly.

  
Lexa has to remind herself that Octavia doesn't mean to sound obvious or insulting to her tracking skills. Still, she never had a good relationship with Bellamy’s sister and her attitude. So keeping a cool head when everything seems to be getting more and more difficult requires all of her self-restraint.  
  


"Obviously."  
  


"Have you tried offering something to the fairy ring?" Lincolns words are soft and unassuming, which means he is judging her very harshly.

  
"An offering?"

  
"Yes. Fairies will keep messing with you until you give them something else for them to play with."

  
"Surely you’re joking."

  
Lincoln’s eyebrows arch. Octavia snorts and pecks him on the cheek.

  
"All right. What should I give them?"

  
Lincoln shrugs.

  
"Something beautiful. The rarer the better. Or something precious."

  
Lexa snorts without humor and pats the pockets of her coat. She finds a package of Marlboro Light, half a matchbox, random napkins from different diners, three pennies, a crumpled ten-dollar bill, more tissues, the stump of a candle and a small miss-shaped creature made of colorful beads.

  
She looks down at herself, finally taking off one of her silver bracelets. It is a trinket she got in a garage sale a few years back. She puts it into the fairy circle and turns to look at Lincoln.

  
"You call that an offering?"

  
Lexa certainly does _not_ jump two feet into the air. She turns very dignifiedly and glowers very consciously at a woman that most definitely had not been there four seconds ago.

  
The woman dresses in brown and green floaty dress, has pointy features and a rat nest for hair, with leaves and feathers and small insects stuck to it. A bird is currently peaking from between the curls, a writhing worm held fast in its beak.

  
The woman perched on a low branch of a nearby tree and holds the misshapen beaded creature in her thin hands. "I like this one way better." She informs the three wolves.  
  


Lexa growls.  
"Give that back!"

  
"You’d rather be stuck here?" the woman leans back until she is hanging from the tree by her legs. She cocks her head at them. "I like this small thing better" she blows on the beaded creature and it wiggles to life, crawling around her fingers.

  
"That is mine!"

  
"You can keep the bracelet. I have many of those." She smiles a bright dimpled smile.  
Lexa takes a step forward, but Lincoln’s hand lands on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

  
"The closer to the hart the more valuable the offering."

  
"It’s not an offering! It was a present! It’s mine! I will not give it away."

  
Lincoln frowns, behind her Octavia huffs, but Lexa doesn't mind what the other alpha thinks of her. She wants what is hers. Lincoln looks up from Lexa to the woman hanging from the tree.

  
"I can offer you something better."  
  


She cocks her head in the other direction like a curious bird.

  
"Lincoln, what are you doing?" whispers Octavia angrily.

  
"I am listening."  
  


"I can give you a taste of human love."  
For a moment the fairy doesn’t move, then she extends her arms down, dragging her body down the tree like a slithering snake. A moment later she stands in front of Lincoln.

  
"I am very much interested in that."

  
She is smaller than Lexa, and the top of her head barely reaches Lincolns' chest, her eyes shine a deep poisonous green. Her dress seems made of mismatched furs, snake scales and leaves all stitched together into a dress. She circles the three wolves, before stopping in front of Octavia’s mate. She leans her head this and that way like a curious bird, then gathers her skirts over her knees and steps into the air with the same ease one might climb a ladder.

  
Octavia sucks in a startled breath, and Lexa jumps back with a growl, but Lincoln remains cool as a cucumber, his hands in his pockets and shoulders relaxed.

  
"It’s not the first time you see a fairy, is it, beautiful wolf?"

  
"There were many fairies around my mom’s house," he explains.  
The fairy lays on her belly, floating nearly six feet in the air, kicking her legs lazily.

  
"She a witch? I like witches. They’re funny."  
  


"Yes, she was a witch."  
When the fairy hums it sounds oddly melodious, like a songbird.

  
"All right. Give me a taste of human love."  
And without warning Lincoln picks the fairy out of the air and into a bear hug, burying his head in the crook of her shoulder and squeezing her. She squeals like a delighted child, kicking her legs around and clawing at Lincolns shoulders, holding on for dear life. After a moment he puts her back on the ground, and the tiny fairy claps her hands, jumping around and running in the air like it is nothing, a splitting smile on her face.

  
"I like human love." She grabs Lincoln’s arm, snuggling against him, before jumping back and tackling Octavia, who is visibly less thrilled than her mate. "Freely given human love!"

Lincoln chuckles.  
"Will you help us find a pup that has been lost in this forest?" he asks softly. A bird flows into the fairy's hair, disappearing between the wild curls.  
  


"I’ve seen a wolf pup running around," she answers happily. "I can help." She turned to Lexa and offers the beaded animal, once again completely inanimate. "Follow me."

And she starts towards the trees like some sort of mad deer, cheerily jumping through the air.

  
"My name is Luna" she introduces herself after a bit, making a mad circle around the three wolves to jump and perch across Lincoln’s shoulders. "I like wolves."

  
"Pleased to meet you, Luna. I am Lincoln. And these are Lexa and Octavia."

  
"Lexa is the frowny one" the fairy points at each wolf in turn, "and Octavia is your sweetheart. It’s nice. I have a sweetheart, too." and jumps down running around again.  
Octavia crosses her arms across her chest.  
  


"She seems… Friendly."

  
"Fairies are like children," explains Lincoln. "If you treat them kindly, they will love you fiercely. They lose interest in stuff pretty quickly, but love anything magic. Shifters and witches qualify."

  
Octavia frowns. "Anya taught you about fairies?"

  
"Yes. The house was in a forest, and we always left treats for the fairies. They can be very helpful during spell-work. There were always little imps and fairies running around the ceiling and hiding woodland creatures between the roof tiles. Our neighbors weren’t very pleased…"

  
Octavia hugs his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

  
In their years together she had gathered enough information to know that the story has a very tragic, very bloody ending. A lot of time had passed – Lincoln was in his early teens when he had been forced to leave his stepmother’s home- but it still is an open wound.

  
"I can’t believe he got so far away," mumbles Lexa, her posture all tense and ready to pounce.

  
Luna shrugs.  
  


"The pup is with the Strange One. I wouldn’t worry."

That gets the wolves’ attention.

  
"Who is the Strange one?"

  
"I don’t know." She swats a big spider back into her messy hair. "He looks funny. And can do strange magic. That’s why we call him the Strange One."

  
"How long has he been here?" asks Octavia, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

  
"I don’t know. A few cycles, maybe? The trees have been very agitated since he arrived. And the birds all tweet about like mad. Haven’t you heard? I got it from the squirrels; they were all biting their tails in their excitement, talking about wolves made of branches and dead magic" Luna shudders at that. "I have never seen dead magic, but my Derrick went to investigate and said it was terribly disgusting."

  
The three wolves exchange looks. Without saying anything they walk faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about Luna, she's a "little bit" - and by a "little bit" I mean a hell of a lot - oOC. But, well... 
> 
> As always thank you so much for reading


	19. Bellamy

"You better start talking, right this instant," growls Bellamy, eyes fixed on Emori, who sits across from him in the tiny booth.

  
The fact that neither Lexa nor Octavia have called to tell them they’d found Alexander; that he was stabbed and that his mate has linked herself to a zombie without any knowledge of what that really entitled, toppled with the fact that hunters captured one of his own and tortured his best friend and beta, are rubbing away at his self-control and patience. The only thing he wants to do right now is tearing the zombie limb to limb, bring the rotting corpse to the hunters and get his pack and his territory back. But he has to think of his pack's needs and what is best for everyone in the long run. For that he needs information.

  
"What do you want me to say?" Emori hugs herself, looking uncomfortable, her eyes skirting around the room and falling on everything but her audience.

  
Raven is having none of it. "Why don’t you start with who those psychos are? And who you are protecting?"

  
Emori stares at them for a whole minute. 

 

"Say something!" roars Raven. She falls back coughing up blood, and Bellamy feels a terrible stab of anger and pain twisting his insides. By her side, Roan continues to shed black feathers.

"The hunters are after shifters. They hate them. Alie, on the other hand, wants only John and me."

  
"Why?" asks Clarke.  
She and Gina sit by the bar, somewhat apart from the wolves. Monroe standing close between the rest and the humans, shoulder hunched and claws at the ready. Bellamy could’ve smiled at the youngest protective streak.

  
Emori licks her lips, bites the inside of her lips and then puts her legs up against her chest. After a moment crossing them underneath her instead.

  
"It’s because John shouldn’t exist… and… We conjured him into being. Wells and I." Clarke sucks in a startled breath at the name of her deceased best friend.

  
Clarke and Wells Jaha grew up together. She doesn't talk much about her friend; the only thing Bellamy knows is that he had been a pro-shifter activist and a witch.

  
"Wells wanted to become a wolf, he was in love with this girl and wanted to follow her. She bit him, but, being a witch, his magic protected him. So he started investigating spells. That’s how… we met. He needed someone to anchor him while he did the ritual."

  
There’s a moment of pause.  
"Where did he meet you?" asks Clarke, frowning, arms crossed over her chest.

  
"During his research."

  
"Yeah, I heard you. But where. Wells was very protective of all his spell-work."

  
Emori shifts.  
"He was dealing with stuff stronger and older than he was able to comprehend."

  
"Answer the damn question" growls Raven.  
Bellamy has a very bad feeling about this.  
  


"When did you die?" he asks.

 

"I don’t see how this is relevant…"

  
"I do."

  
She opens and closes her mouth twice, then stands up.

  
"No. No, I don’t have to answer these questions. I don’t have to answer to anybody! I am Emori, Magician, Seer of the Past, Bringer of the Plagues, Bringer of Doom and Consort to the Wild Spirit. I will not bend to a pack of childish wolves. You want to bring me to the hunters? Well, do that if you wish, but know that your woman" she points a bony finger in Clarke’s direction, "will suffer the same fate as me. We are connected now, and my pain is hers!"

  
Emori looms over them all. Bellamy is fuming in his chair, the stitches of his newly acquired stabbing wound itch and hurt. He knows too little about magic to deal with all this.

  
"Sit down!" Clarke’s voice is harsh and strong, her eyes shining an electric blue.

Emoris fists her hands by her sides. After a moment she obeys.

  
"I don’t like your attitude. For a slave you are very outspoken."

  
Emori goes rigid, her eyes wide and terrified. Gina takes a step. "Wow, Clarke! The fuck is wrong with you?"

  
Clarke’s murderous eyes don't leave the stranger.

  
"Listen to me, Emori. You might have been some great witch back in your time. But you’re a zombie now."

  
"What do you know about zombies, human," growls Emori, a soft hum surrounding her.  
  


"I grew up with a powerful magician. I know what zombies are."

  
"Care to share with the class" mumbles Miller.  
If looks could kill the wolf would’ve dropped dead right then and there.  
  


"Zombies exist to serve. They’re laborers. Nothing more." Emori presses her lips together; her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Magicians use them all the time. Once tied to you the zombie is under your very command. They aren't considered people anywhere. The only reason there are so few of them is because of moral objections of the magician community. If it weren’t for that, every distasteful job in the world would be covered by zombies."

  
Bellamy swallowed the thick lump in his throat.

  
"So," Clarke continues, ruthlessly. "You know what you’re going to do, Emori? You are going to answer all of our questions. And then you will bring us to this John character you keep talking about and we will decide whether you’re useful to us or you get transferred to the hunters. Am I understood?"

  
Emori pulls her lips back in a terrible fake smile.

  
"You think…"

  
"Am. I. Understood?"

  
She works her jaw, but finally mumbles a strained: "Yes."

  
"Good. You will answer all our questions. Honestly. And you will do so with as much clarity and detail as needed. Is that clear?"

  
"Y-yes." her voice breaks slightly, but the tears still don't fall. 

  
Clarke nods and continues with the questioning: "When did you die?"  
  


"13th of March 1874" answers Emori, eyes fixed on the tips of her boots. She looks young and defeated; it's painful and sad to watch.

"How did you meet Wells Jaha?" asks Bellamy, a little less harshly than his mate.

  
"He was playing with spirit magic. Opened a door and I slipped through."

  
"Because you are the Consort of the Spirits?" Monroe cocks her head; she sits on top of one of the tables, kicking her legs.  
Emori gives a half shrug. "Something like that, yes."

  
"What happened to Wells?"

  
Emori pulls her legs back up against her chest.  
"He wanted to turn himself into a werewolf. He would’ve sacrificed his magic for the she-wolf. It’s quite romantic if you think about it. I met her the night of the ritual. They loved each other very much" Emori pauses. "I agreed to help him if he brought me back. We wrote the spell together. It was supposed to turn him into a wolf and let him keep his magic." She closes her eyes and confesses, her voice nearly inaudible. "The spell was worthless. It didn’t matter how much he tweaked it. He was trying the impossible, and I conned him."

  
"He performed the spell, and it didn’t work," Roan frowns.

  
The zombie nods.  
  


"You cannot change your nature, no matter how much you wish for it, or how much power you have. And there was a lot of power indeed. Wells chose a clearing in the woods that hummed with energy; the she-wolf was a mighty omega, those are very rare and mighty. And Wells was a skilled magician. I myself had considerable power." she rubs her fingers "The combination of all these things…"

  
"What were you trying to do with the spell?" interrupts Roan, startling her into looking up at him. "You conned Wells to get something out of him."

  
"I wanted my partner back. It’s not like it would harm anybody. Nothing bad would’ve happened."

  
"So, what did happen?"

  
"His father found out. He was furious. We were in the most challenging part of the ritual and… Blood was spilled. That corrupted the whole spell."

  
"You’re telling me he killed Wells?" chokes Clarke.

 

Emori stares up at her. Slowly, she pulls the bandana off to show off the hole on her head.  
  


"An ax to the head and a knife to the heart. We were linked at the time, so he survived the ax, but everyone needs the heart to stay alive."

  
"I can’t believe it."

  
"You can’t?" Emori replaces the bandana around her head. "That man slammed your head against a table twice, stabbed your husband and tried to kill your child."

  
"But… He loves Wells. Ever since his wife died, Wells was Thelonious’ life."

  
Emori shrugs. Clarke hides her face behind her hands, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  
"What about Alie?" asks Bellamy.

  
Emori smiles, and it is nasty and terrible.  
"That woman is completely mad. She wants to collect power, harness it and use it at will. Make magicians obsolete by making magic accessible to humans."

  
"Is that even possible?"

  
Emori shrugs.

  
"I don’t know. I haven’t stopped to ask about the details of her deranged plans."

  
Raven snorts.

  
"What are you going to do with me?"

  
Bellamy rubs the back of his head.  
Could he deliver her to these hunters? What is one life against dozens? Is Emori’s life as important as Finn’s? He has a responsibility to his people. Emori already had her life; she died over a century ago. Finn isn’t even thirty-five years old. Plus he is family. What is this single witch? Is she even alive?  
  


He stands up, pacing slowly up and down. He can't look into those large brown eyes or at that young face. She looks like a child. A teen, barely in her twenties.

  
Bellamy wants to tear his hair out.  
For years he knew exactly what he had to do to protect his pack. He should know what he has to do now.

  
"The hunters said they would leave us alone if we delivered Emori?"

  
He shouldn’t use her name. That will only make it worse.

  
"Yeah. They won't harm any wolf in Dropship Valley. They'll give us Finn back. Alive."  
Bellamy has a thick knot lodged in his throat. He can't breathe. He swallows, but to no avail.  
The pack comes before anyone else. He picks the tiny blood-splattered card Raven brought back from her captors and looks at the neat scrawl. The phone number is burned in his mind's eye. 

 

The card had been in a sealed plastic bag. They stuffed it into one of Raven’s wounds before leaving her to crawl her way back, without her brace, hurt and in pain. What are they doing to Finn? What will they do to the rest of them? _What will they do to Emori?_  , whispers a treacherous voice in his brain. Lexa wouldn’t care. Octavia wouldn’t care.

But…  
He said she would be safe with him. She is under his protection.

  
Bellamy closes his eyes, picks his phone out of his back pocket and dials the number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading


	20. Alexander

Alexander is showing Murphy how well he can climb. He is the best climber in his class, and Murphy looks appropriately impressed when he shows him the trick his dad taught him to get his wolf claws without changing completely and how quickly he managed to get to the taller branches.

  
"You sure you’re a wolf and not a monkey?" asks Murphy and Alexander laughs.

  
"Of course I know, silly." he sits on the branch straddling it and looks down at his new friend. "Can you climb, too?"

  
"I can go wherever I want."

  
"Really? Won’t your mom be mad at you if you don’t come back home?"

  
Murphy gets that strange look he got when Alexander gave him the dino cookies, and he suddenly remembers what he had said about not remembering anything. He thinks about something else to say. When suddenly there is a rumbling in the underbrush.

  
Murphy tenses. He seems to grow a bit taller, thin thorny brown branches and roots twisting around his shoulders and in his hair, waving themselves all around Murphy, his body shedding small leaves. The creature looks a little bit like a wolf, a little bit like a bear,  and has twisted thorny antlers like a deer. It falls forward on big paws and roars right into the face of a small woman with ratty hair. Birds fly out of her head like in cartoons. The woman jumps back, eyes wide, at the same time that three big wolves rush forward.

  
It takes Alexander a minute to recognise aunt Lexa, aunt Octavia and Lincoln.

  
The three wolves attacks at the same time: claws shredding the small leaves on Murphy’s back, teeth breaking the thorny branches. Murphy swats at them, but they're quicker than he is.

  
"Stop!" shouts Alexander when Murphy fails to stand up again. He falls from the tree, twisting his ankle "Stop it!"

  
The child charges forward, throwing a stone at aunt Octavia and pulling on aunt Lexa’s tail to get her attention. It works: all three wolves turn to him, lips furrowed and canines sharp and ready. When they see him, they stop, panting.

  
Lexa shakes herself and, in the blink of an eye, is a woman again, her tattoo covered body gleaming with sweat.

  
"Alexander! We have been looking everywhere for you!"

  
Her mouth and hands are bloody, with thorns sticking out like some sort of crazy cactus. Aunt Octavia and Lincoln, too have thorns sticking out from their faces and hands. Aunt Octavia looks mad. Lincoln looks chill and menacing like always.

  
"We were very worried," Lincoln says, voice rumbling. Alexander likes Lincoln, he wants to be like him when he grows up. Plus the tattoos on his torso and neck are so very cool.  
  


"I was here with Murphy."

  
The three adult wolves turn as one to the creature, still half covered in his woven animalistic form. He flinches.

  
"Who are you?" growls Lexa, hackles rising.

  
"He’s my friend" cries Alexander.  
  


Lexa takes a deep breath through the nose.  
"We need to get you back home."

  
"Can he come with? He’s all alone."  
The adults exchange _a look_. Alexander knows everything about looks. Mom and dad are constantly sharing looks when they want to speak without him knowing what they are saying. 

  
Thinking about mom and dad reminds Alexander suddenly of everything that has happened this morning: mom’s uncle coming for breakfast, the attack. Emori telling him to run. His legs itch again with the memory of those powerful words alone, trembling with collected energy.

  
He sobs without meaning to and aunt Octavia hugs him, carding her fingers through his tangled hair.

  
"It’s ok," she whispers. "Hush, it’s ok."

  
Aunt Octavia had never been so soft and kind, which only makes him cry harder. He is hungry and tired, wants to go home and be with mom and dad and…

  
Lincoln picks him up, rubbing soothing circles on his back until he starts to doze off. He is only dimly aware of Murphy tagging along behind Lincoln.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commentig


	21. Alie

Wolves are so predictable it isn’t even fun anymore.

  
Alie sits in the backseat of their rented jeep playing on her phone. Of course, she has deployed the necessary drones to be sure to know where all the wolves are at any given moment. She is not stupid; she knows wolves try to trick prey into thinking it'ss safe. Not that she is the prey in this scenario.

  
The alpha has decided to make the exchange on some random place in the forest – probably thinking it might keep his filthy pack safe. How stupid is he, really?

 

"Aren’t we cutting it a bit close to the full moon?" grumbles Pike, his hands itching for a fight.

  
Alie smiles at the screen of his phone.  
  


"Wolves are most vulnerable during the full moon, when their brains turn all higher functions off, and they turn into senseless animals," she answers.

  
Alie loves the soft tap of her long nails on the smooth screen.

  
Their driver grumbles, pulling to a stop. They are here.

  
She shuts the game down and smoothes her skirt. And maybe this wasn’t the most adequate outfit for their current location, but she wants to look her best when she finally wins. The high heels will be a bit difficult to walk in on the forest's uneven ground. She checks her makeup and hair on the mirror function on her phone. She steps out of the car, making sure her red dress is straight and perfect.

  
She doesn't consider herself vain. She isn’t. But years of research and waiting have passed, and this is a victory. She is dressed to win.

  
Alie grew up in a large house, surrounded by polite staff and high windows, portraits of her ancestors and silver spoons. Her mother groomed and moulded into a perfect girl, and her father had made sure she knew everything there was to know about anything else. Alie attended a finishing school for nearly seven years before starting at a private all-girls college. She knows how important it is to be dressed for the job. And how to convey a message with just a slight tilt of her head, a tiny frown, a well placed braid.

 

 Alie doesn't remember when was the last time she hadn’t thought all the implications of anything she did before doing it. Had she ever?

 

Charles Pike pulls the dog-cage out of the back of the jeep and Thelonious steps to her side.

  
Should anything go wrong, these men will take the fall and she will just grab what is rightfully hers and flee the scene while the wolves tear the hunters apart.

  
"I still can’t believe how easy it was," says Thelonious clasping his hands behind his back.

  
She smiles sweetly at him, listening intently. She can hear the rumbling of the leaves and the soft sigh of the trees all around her. 

 

Through her smart glasses she checks the feed of her drones, controlling them with a tiny device of her invention hidden in her ponytail. She sees the wolves through the drones’ eyes and straightens, fighting down the grin threatening to pull on her lips without her permission.

  
They brought the girl.  
The only one making any noise is her, shuffling and limping beside the alpha. The beta Charles Pike tortured is in full wolf form, a brace around her leg, and the wounds stitched, at her side a big man. On the alpha’s other side a young man with shaved head and dark skin marches forward like he was about to go to war.

  
On another drone's feed, she sees five wolves, running silently through the underbrush. The alpha of one of the other packs marches forward, all her pack at her back.

  
A few minutes later the male alpha walks into the clearing, the monstrous girl at his side, the other three wolves staying close, but behind. He stops, jaw tense and eyes murderous. 

  
He very deliberately looks at Alie in the eye.  The alpha seemed to have a great deal of self-control, it is impressive. Over the years, she has met many a beaten alpha, and none has looked her in the eye once they knew they had lost everything. But maybe this one still clings to the notion that he can win, that the wolves hidden in the forest can surprise her.  
  


"Good evening, Bellamy," she sais smoothly. Behind him the wolves raise their hackles, but the alpha remains completely still.

  
"Where’s Finn?" he growls, or maybe that was just how he usually speaks, his voice deep, grumbling in his chest. He has an amazing poker face, Alie has to give him that.  
She turns to Charles next to the dog-carrier.  
"Pike?"  
  


The man, who has no self-preservation instinct, kicks the cage. The wolf inside whimpers pathetically. The wounded she-wolf looks ready to tear everyone apart. The big male beside her tenses. The alpha and the wolf with a shaved head remain still.

  
"You said you would break the bond between her" the alpha cocks his head towards the girl at his side, "and my mate."

  
"I will bond with her myself. You just have to hold her still."

  
He nods grimly and the girl sobs letting him hold her arms behind her back. She shakes, a whimper starting deep in her throat. Alie walks, but Thelonious stops her, like she knew he would. Always the gentleman.

  
"I’ll bond with it," he sais standing straight. Alie smiles sweetly at him and lets him go to the wolves, slicing his hand open with a wickedly sharp hunting knife.

  
The alpha steps back, dragging her prize with him.

  
"First Finn."

  
Thelonious stars forward at the wolf then turns to her for instructions.

  
Alie nods primly, and Charles grumbles while opening the doggie-carrier, dragging the wolf out by his hair. He lets him go, and the wolf runs to his alpha’s side like a kicked puppy.

  
"Raven" barks the alpha and the she-wolf, her partner and the Finn-wolf disappear between the trees.

  
After a beat, the alpha offers the girl up.  
Thelonious smiles and presses his bloody hand to the girl’s heart. She whimpers some more, fighting weakly against the alpha’s grip.  
Alie nearly can't contain her smile.  
She has her. She has won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for reading, you're the best and deserve something with loads of chocolate.


	22. Bellamy

Bellamy does not like this plan. He doesn't like how everyone seems to be manipulating him. He doesn't like that everybody knows exactly how to pull him around and bend him to their will. He doesn't like that the plan is only half-assed. He doesn't like his odds, and he doesn't like that everything he cares about hangs from a plan that is definitely going to fail.

  
In all his life Bellamy has rushed into action only a handful of times, and most of those ended in disaster. He likes his actions to be thought-out and smart.

 

As he stands behind the writhing Emori, holding her hands still behind her back, feeling magic humming on his skin and the moon trying to pull the wolf out sooner rather than later, he knows this is the only solution that might work. So, even if he hates this plan, he stands just two feet away from a hunter he wants dead, holding a girl that has done him no harm.

  
Emori and Clarke have explained how this whole bonding thing goes: to transfer the bond from one person to another; the previous bond has to be broken with blood magic. And once it was, enough blood had to be poured in to form a new one.

  
For about half a second the creature - aka Emori - will be free. Which will weaken her and probably make feral with the need to eat brains. No one was very specific about that part.

  
The longer the hunter holds his hand over Emori’s heart, the harder she fights, more feral her growls, sharper her nails against Bellamy’s wrist.

  
Her head falls back onto his shoulder, her eyes bright red with blood.

  
"Now" she growls deep in her chest, and her teeth snapping at his throat.

  
Bellamy has nearly no time to push her off him and onto Clarke’s uncle. The zombie shrieks, jumping onto Thelonious. He loses his balance and fell backward to the ground, Emori straddling his waist, her nails clawing at his throat and jumper, shredding the cloth. The hunter’s hand scramble wildly trying to find his knife, while his other hand grabs hold of Emori’s throat, pushing her back and trying to stop her snapping jaws from tearing into his skin.

  
Bellamy is rooted in place, eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him, unable to move.

  
Thelonious finds the knife and plunges into the zombie, twisting the blade up when she doesn't stop her mad attack. The second hunter, the one Alie called Pike aims his gun at the zombie’s head.

  
The sound of Emori’s pained scream is the most inhuman thing Bellamy has ever heard, but it manages to spur him into action, jumping forward and past the fighting zombie to tackle the second hunter. The shot goes wide, its loud bang echoing through Bellamy’s body. He lets go, giving in to the moon’s sweet prompting.

  
The wolf is angry and vicious and aware of the first hunter’s pained shout when Emori manages to bite a chunk of his face off. 

Under his claws, the second hunter buts the end of his rifle into his stomach and kicks him off. Bellamy growls deep in his throat, ears flat against his head and hackles raised. He notices Miller hurrying over to the other two hunters, his soft dark coat a flash of brown on the corner of his eye.

  
Maybe, maybe they'll manage to win. The woman in the red dress has yet to move.  
  


Pike shoots at him, but Bellamy manages to jump out of the way, his teeth itching to snap that guy’s neck.

  
Miller whimpers when the third gigantic hunter with the deformed face throws him off and against a tree. He tried to stand again, but couldn’t get his legs to answer. Bellamy feels a pang of terror.

  
A third shot he nearly doesn't manage to dodge. He needs his pack.

  
Bellamy throws his head back and howls.  
The pack rushes out of the trees, most of them already transformed. Monroe runs to Miller’s side, dragging back into the woods where he'll be safe; Harper and Fox circling slowly towards the third hunter.

  
Alie smiles sweetly down at Bellamy, she pulls her sleek phone up and taps the screen with an unnerving click of her red-painted fingernail.

  
Bellamy has been in pain many times before. He has been wounded in battles against other alphas; he broke his leg when he was pup; he suffered injuries during hunts. Nothing that he ever experienced before is even remotely similar.

  
The piercing pain threatens to split his head open, it tears at his insides and makes his eyes water. He is twisting on the ground, clawing at his own ears to make it stop.

  
Alie smiles down at him. She looks around at the defeated pack, all writhing, all whining and paralyzed in pain.

  
Bellamy wants to break her. He wants to destroy her, but his muscles are stiff and unresponsive.

  
She's saying something, but over the ear-splitting noise, over the rush of blood in his ears and the pain he can’t hear anything.  
  
They're all going to die here. And it was his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible at writing acction-scenes, sorry for that. 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading


	23. Nate Miller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit continues to hit the fan

Miller tries to stand, but his legs won't answer. He and Monroe are out of the radius of the hunter's weapon, but only just. The ear-splitting noise nags at his brain like an over-zealous beaver. Monroe whimpers, rubbing her ears against her front paws.

 

 There is blood trickling out of her ears, and Miller fears what might happen to those standing closer to the hunters.

  
The humans seem unaffected by their weapon. The female stands still. The other two males approach the one Emori is viciously attacking, not caring how often he pushes his knife into her.

  
Her clawed hands manage to grab his head, thumbs pressing into the eyes. The man shouts, the sound adding to the pack’s pain and the sound of the weapon. The second hunter, Pike, aims his weapon at the zombie, ready to blow her head off.

  
She doesn't seem to notice, too occupied slamming the head on the ground. Hard. Again. And again. And again. With a snarl, she twists her hands and pulls, and suddenly she's torn the whole head off the hunter’s shoulders, blood and gore spraying everywhere.

  
The woman in red comes forward, putting a perfectly manicured hand on the rifle and pushing it down. Her eyes fixed on the zombie, while she cracks the skull open like an egg, stuffing the brain into her mouth by the fistful.

  
Miller is so mesmerized by the sight that he didn’t even notice when the woman in red slices the throat of the deformed guy and blows a hole into his head while he was still alive. She brushes a few blood flecks from her skirt and gingerly put her fingers into the hole. Plucking a small piece of brain and offering it to the zombie, like one might offer a treat to a dog.

  
The zombie, Emori – he has to remind himself – looks up from the empty skull to the piece the red woman is offering her. She grumbles, crawling forward.

  
Miller swallows the thick lump in his throat. He wants to call her, to stop her from going with that madwoman that obviously wants to harm her.

  
Emori eats the brain piece directly off her hand, and something twists in Miller’s chest.  
  


This is wrong.  
  


The woman picks a new piece of brain and gives it to the zombie, backing off little. Emori follows like a well-trained pet.

  
"Leave her alone!" shouts Miller.

  
The woman in red looks at him with a smile and continues coaxing Emori behind her with little pieces of hunter's brain.

  
It is so unfair. That woman in red can’t win.  
The first shot resonates all through Millers' chest, and he discovered, horrified, that the last hunter is methodically shooting the pack members where they are still writhing in pain.

  
Miller watches the hunter shoot another wolf, and the only thing he can think is: “please don’t be Monty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Just 4 more chapters to go :D


	24. Marcus Kane

Beside him Indra twitches and nearly crying, paws rubbing away at her ears. When he tries to comfort her, she roars in his face and nearly bites him and that chills him to the bone.

  
Marcus Kane and Indra have been rushing through the forest for nearly twenty minutes before his partner started showing signs of discomfort. A very concerned Clarke came to him telling him how she is afraid her husband is going to get himself killed - And really, he is the sheriff, why can't people come to him for these things? Why is he always the last resort? –

Her strides became shorter, she kept shaking her head and growling deep in her chest. Then she started rubbing her ears. Now they have stopped completely, just a few hundred meters away from the little point in his GPS the wolves and the hunters are supposed to have the their showdown.

  
Indra gives two or three more prowling steps forward, but falters again with a frustrated growl. Marcus has a pounding headache by now and is convinced that what ails Indra is some sort of acoustic attack at a frequency humans can’t detect.

  
"It’s ok" he sais. "I’ll go."

  
Indra looks anything but happy, but there is nothing much she can do about it. The wolves are not only his responsibility as the sheriff. They’re also his friends and neighbors, and, maybe his hands are tied by law, but he is not going to just sit around while they are murdered.

 

Indra called him with her deep shifted voice. A bellow that he has heard many times and knows exactly what it meant.

  
"Don’t worry. I’ll be fine." He winked at her for good measure and rushes through the trees.

 

Marcus Kane is not prepared to see the wolves twisting on the ground; Thelonious’ beheaded body sprawled on the ground; Charles’ shooting at defenceless people.  
  


"Drop the weapon!" he doesn't even register that he has raised his gun. The metal of the grip feels warm and hard beneath his fingers; the moonlight gleaming eerily on the silver metal of the barrel.

Charles looks up. Behind him, a woman in the red dress is slowly guiding another towards a doggie-carrier,  feeding her something slimy and dripping with blood. Both of them seem unconcerned with either Marcus or Charles.  
  


"We are only removing a threat from your community, Kane. You should be grateful."

  
"Yeah, I’m not. I’ll ask one last time, Charles: Drop. The. Weapon."

  
"Yes, Charles," hisses a disembodied voice. "Drop the weapon."

  
Charles Pike jerks his gun up, eyes narrowed.  
The voice seems to bounce around the clearing, echoing against the trees, rustling creepily through the leaves.

  
Marcus doesn't know how or when the boy materialized. One moment he isn't there, the next he stands right in front of Charles Pike. 

It looked like a boy and at the same time, it doesn’t. If one looks close enough, even illuminated only by the silvery light of the full moon, it seems made out of delicate interwoven branches. The hair is either thin leaves or very long grass blades. The creature rocks on his heels, hands disappearing in the pockets of raggedy cargo pants, like any rebellious teenage boy he’s ever seen. His shoulders pushed back and head slightly cocked to the left.

  
"I think you have invoked me."

  
The clothes look oddly real, even though the skin and hair are clearly plant-life.

  
The woman in the red dress straightens, a  slight frown on her brow. At her feet, the girl with the bandana blinks owlishly, and Marcus thinks she must be mentally impaired. He needs to get her away from here.  
  


As for the new arrival, Marcus' skin itches only looking at him, makes the hair on his neck stand on end and his knees lock. Something is very wrong with that nonchalant creature. Looking at it terrified him like nothing else ever had.

  
"Yes," sais the woman in red smiling smoothly. "We have summoned you, through old magic and sacrifice" she points at the dead bodies strewn liberally around the clearing.

  
"I see," its eyes travel over the wolves, stop briefly on Marcus, smiles like he finds him humorous and then return his whole attention to the woman. Completely ignoring Charles and the gun currently aimed at his chest.

  
"Say my name."

  
The woman straightens, throwing her shoulders back a little more, the smile bright and triumphant.

  
"You are the Spirit of the Earth and Wild."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading


	25. Alie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy and Emori are reunited.

"You are the Spirit of the Earth and Wild."

Alie feels ecstatic.

  
She has always known that the way to the creature she sought was through the zombie. And here she is, seeing the beast in the flesh for the first time. It is incredible how it imitates the mannerisms of a teenage boy. How he speaks with the voice of the wild: rumbling deep like a canyon and at the same time breezy and light like the wind. How its skin is made out of growing plants, how there are flowers hiding in the strands of its hair and little thorns on its chin like it's trying to grow a beard. 

 

Alie can feel the power coming off it in waves, and that power will soon be hers to study and manipulate and use as she pleases. This was her birthright.  
  


She opens her mouth to command the creature to her side. Command it to grant her his power. But it speaks again: "No."

  
Alie splutters.  
"What?"  
  


"That's not my name."

  
Alie has read a lot about spirits and knows that the most powerful are tricksters. They don't like following orders and submit only to those powerful of will. She has power of will and will bring that creature to its knees.

  
"You are the spirit of the Earth and the Wild," she repeats, infusing every word with power.

  
"I heard you the first time. That’s still not my name."

  
"I have summoned you."

  
"The hell you have! You would know my name if you had."

  
"You are under my command!" she tries again, voice hard and fierce.

  
Thorns tear through the raggedy clothes he's wearing.

  
"I don’t answer to anyone."

  
Alie takes a deep calming breath.  
She is so close, there is no way she'll leave without her prize.

  
She studies the spirit up and down. It stands like a teenage boy. Dresses like a boy, albeit in raggedy clothes. Speaks like an ill-mannered brat. What else do boys have?

  
They have names. Not titles, but actual names.

  
This spirit has spent so much time stranded away from the spirit world it thinks of itself human and expects a human name.

  
Ok, she can find a human name for this creature. She looks at its strange thorny face.  
  


"Your name is Richard," she declares powerfully. It looked like a Richard. The name fits.

  
"No. It’s not."

  
Alie bristles.  
This is pointless. She has summoned it here: she knew the power this place held, she has split blood on it, she has the full moon hanging silvery over their heads. She summoned it, and thus it belongs to her!  
  


"Who cares about your stupid name! Come over here, I command you!"

  
The thorns grow at least half a foot; its face is changing, the small branches rearranging into an angry muzzle. A growl like thunder shakes the earth. At her feet, the zombie perked up from where it's chewing happily on some brains. Its crazy eyes look around and fall on the spirit.

  
"John," it sights so softly the breeze seems to take it away.

  
The creature stops its terrifying transformation; bright green eyes fixed on the zombie.

  
It looks like a boy again: no strange muzzle, no thorns, no horns made of thick branches protruding out of its forehead. Just a boy smiling at a girl.

  
"Hello, Emori."

  
And the zombie leaps at the spirit, throwing her arms around it and pressing her body against the spirit's like it can't get close enough.  
  


Alie doesn't realize she is shouting. Doesn’t realize she has taken a step forward until vines shot out of the ground, twisting around her ankles and tripping her. She falls, slicing her hand opens on the thorns of the ivy twisting out of the ground, blood soaking the green leaves.

  
When she looks up, Charles is desperately fighting the trees sprouting around him, encasing him in layer after layer of thin bark. His legs and torso have already disappeared, and the arm with the gun is frozen at an awkward angle, both hand and gun merging into a long, massive branch. Alie stares at Charles as his face is frozen in a terrified scream, bark twisting his features until he is the mere suggestion of a human screaming on the side of a tree. She shudders.

  
Alie raises as much as the vines tying her down allow. If she is going down, she'll face those creatures and go down looking them in the eye.

  
It's easier said than done: the spirit's eyes shine like they're made of some freakish green light so bright it hurts to look at. But Alie is no stranger to discomfort. She straightens, pulling on the vines, slowly twisting around her wrist and legs, thick thorns piercing her skin.

  
Her eyes fall to the bloody patch of skin on the zombie’s skin, mirrored on the spirit's torn shirt. The spirit's hand rests comfortably on the zombie’s side, thumb drawing absent circles on her hip bone.

  
Alie finally understands. The zombie and the spirit have been bonded for too long. What seemed only a random coincidence that kept both zombie and spirit alive and on the human plane, is actually a symbiotic relationship: keeping the zombie from becoming a maddened brain-crazed killing machine and the spirit from returning to the spirit world.

  
"You’ve ruined it…" Alie mumbles, stunned. "All that power and you just… Ruined it."

  
"His power’s not yours to have, bitch."

  
That startles a laugh out of Alie. She feels her blood rolling down her arms, watering the vines, prompting them to keep growing around her body.

  
"So it’s yours? You don’t have what it takes to control such a powerful creature! It’ll destroy you! I have the knowledge! I can help you harness it! Bring it to its full potential."

  
"I don’t want his power."  
The zombie is leaning into the spirit, playing with its hair, hand lazily trailing the ends of the roots and grasses.

  
Alie’s face twists in disgust. Her vision blurring.

  
"Everyone wants power," se pulls at her bindings. "Everyone wants..."  
The spirit blinks.

  
"I want you to shut up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading


	26. Marcus Kane

When the girl and the strange boy turn towards him, Marcus Kane raises his gun. His heart hammering against his chest when he notices the small plants sprouting around his feet.

  
"No! Don’t!"

  
And a dark wolf jumps between the sheriff and the pair, body coiled, fur puffed, lips pulled back from his wicked fangs and ears flat against his skull.

  
"Bellamy," warns Marcus.

  
The creature has ignored the wolves, and the woman in red called it a “spirit of the wild,” it probably won’t attack the wolves, if they keep a low profile.

  
But of course, the alpha ignores him. Why would anyone listen to him? He is only the sheriff.

  
The strange boy blinks again; the plants stop growing, releasing their grip on Marcus’ legs. Slowly he lowers his weapon when the creature doesn't react, and the plants don’t automatically start to strangle him, he relaxes a little bit, not quite sure where this is going.

  
The wolf raises its ears. The girl at the boy’s side smile.

  
"This is the alpha that has been helping me," she explains. "Bellamy meet John."

  
"Friends call me Murphy," he looks around. "This your pack?"

  
The wolves are stirring all around the clearing. Seven of them don't move. Bellamy goes slowly from one to the next, putting briefly his muzzled to theirs. It is an oddly heartbreaking gesture.

  
Marcus looks away in time to see Indra appearing among the trees. She pushes her big massive head against his side with a deep rumbling.

  
"Let's go home."


	27. John Murphy

Dawn always comes so suddenly when he sleeps. One moment he lays his head down next to Emori’s, and the next the sun is up, and the birds are chirping happily, and he has to stand up.

  
Sleep is one of the strange little things he has to do now. As is feeding and relieving himself, and a thousand other little nuisances that are mysteries to him. And how can the living souls bear such repetitive bleak existence?  
  


Well.  
  


He looks at Emori, already stirring next to him: hair all over the place and face scrunching up to blink around the room. She has gained a little weight in the last few months, and her skin looks a tad darker, too. When she smiles it reaches her eyes, illuminating her whole face and he can think of a few reasons why someone would be willing to put up with the bothersome existence.

  
"Hey there. What are you doing awake already?"

  
"Its sun-up," he sais sitting up. Emori laughs, pulling him back down. He falls with a soft wuff.

  
"It’s Sunday. We can sleep in today."

  
Murphy smiles, burrowing into her side.  
Two months have passed since the hunters that followed them through half the continent were taken care of. They got a room at the little Dropship Valley hotel run by those two kind wolves, and somehow they have gotten themselves tangled up in the human's and wolf’s lives.

  
They are suddenly wanted somewhere. People are helping them get settled. He has a little card now that say his name was John Murphy, that he had been born and was currently twenty years old. Which is quite a bit of a stretch: he is either ten or five thousand three hundred twenty-nine and a half, depending if you're counting how long he has been on the earth or how long he’s been alive.

 

"So…" whispers Emori, head pillowed on his chest. "I’ve been thinking about setting up a spell-shop like I had… Back then." She is drawing runes on his stomach, her soft breath tickling his skin. "They say they don’t burn witches at the stake anymore."

He hums.

  
"We could have a cottage… or something."  
He hums again and feels her smile against the skin of his chest.

  
"I would love that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for bearing with me for this completely unplanned and wacky story. I hope you enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> As always this was unbetad  
> Thank you all for reading.


End file.
